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POEMS 



ANNIE E. CLARK 




PHILADELPHIA 
B. LIPPIjS^COTT & CO. 

1866. 

r 



T5 lz<^ej 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for tlie Eastemi District of 
Penisylvaria. 



TO 



BENNINGTON T. KANBOLPH, ESQ. 

j YOUR LOVING NIECE OFFERS YOU THESE POEMS AS AN EX- 

PRESSION OF HER ESTEEM, AND FOR THE PLEA- 
SURE OF CONNECTING HER EFFORTS 
WITH YOUR NAME. 
. Philadelphia, Now, 1865. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

WHAT THE VOICE SAID 9 

SLEEP WELL 12 

ONLY 14 

MY MOTHER 15 

LINES 16 

CONSUMPTION 17 

I REMEMBER 19 

THE MURDER OF RUTLAND 20 

AN INVOCATION 23 

THE SAME OLD PLACE 23 

THOUGHTS AT SUNSET 24 

PRAYER ON THE BATTLE-FIELD 26 

THE CHANGE 27 

TWILIGHT AFTER A STORM 29 

TO THEE I COME 30 

LONGINGS 31 

IF 32 

MY LOST SCHOOLMATE 33 

QUIETLY 36 

GONE 37 

I ASK NOT 38 

LITTLE JIM 39 

1* 5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

TWILIGHT 41 

GO 42 

ASPIRATIONS ; 43 

LINES TO THE DEPARTED 45 

THE STREAMLET 46 

YEARNINGS 47 

SILENTIA 50 

THE WINTER NIGHT 51 

LINES TO A WANDERER 52 

THREE YEARS 54 

THE THREE GRACES 55 

LINES TO 56 

GOD LOVE THEE 57 

LOUISE SCHEPLER 59 

MUSIC OF THE DEEP 60 

HOW LONG? 62 

THE SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP 63 

BRIGHT AND DARK 64 

SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE? 65 

SHIPWRECKED 66 

A WISH 68 

THE PHANTOM VOICE 69 

LINES : 70 

LIFE 71 

THE INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT 72 

WE TWO 74 

FALTER NOT 75 

A PICTURE 76 

BESIDE THE LAKE 78 

THE QUESTION SI 

AT NIGHTFALL 82 

HE DID HIS DUTY 83 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE 

CLOUDS 84 

A VISION 85 

FROZEN TO DEATH 87 

LOOK ON HER TENDERLY 90 

LINES .^ 91 

FORGET 93 

LOVE ONCE 95 

THE GOLDEN CROWN 95 

AUTUMN DAYS 97 

AT TflE HOSPITAL 98 

WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY? 101 

AMERICA 102 

LINES WRITTEN AT A GRAVE 103 

A CHILD'S WISH 104 

THE FIRST FOND DREAM OF LOVE 105 

ECHOINGS 106 

SOME TIME, BUT WHEN? 107 

PROSPECTIA^E AND RETROSPECTIVE 109 

YOUTH'S DREAM 110 

THEN, AND NOW Ill 

DREAMS 113 

A THOUGHT OF DEATH 114 

SONG OF THE VIOLET 115 

REVERIE 117 

COME TUNE THY THOUGHTS 119 

LEONIE 120 

ABSENCE 121 

SPRING DAYS 122 

LINES 124 

THE DAYS OF YORE 125 

WHAT THEN? 126 

QUESTIONINGS 128 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

DEATH'S DRAFT 129 

A VISION 131 

WHEN SHALL I THINK OF THEE? 132 

THY VOICE 133 

THE BEGGAR'S DEATH 135 

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM 136 

LITTLE EFFIE 137 

A MOTHER'S FAREWELL TO HER CHILD 138 

LINES TO MY BIRD 141 

THOUGHTS 142 

LINES 143 

REFUGE ' 144 

THE IDLE WORD 145 



POEMS. 



WHAT THE VOICE SAID. 

Said a voice at break of day, 
In the sweet and flow'ry May, 
"All things bright must fade away." 

Looking from my own heart's gloom 
Out upon the violet's bloom. 
Scarce believed I this their doom. 

Looked I o'er the fields of green, 
Where the brooklet leaps between, 
Over which the willows lean. 

Thinking why on such a day 
That prophetic voice should say, 
"All things bright must fade away." 

Buttercups of golden hue 
Speckled all the meadows through. 
As the stars the heavens do. 



10 POEMS. 

Tufts of moss, contrasting neat 
With the wild flowers at my feet, 
Carpet made, most downy sweet. 



Summer grew with wealth of bloom, 
Spring flowers vanished in their tomb, 
Leaving not a trace of gloom; 

For the roses, rich and rare, 

Bloomed and blossomed, bright, and fair. 

O'er the landscape everywhere. 

Richly laden were the trees, 
Richly laden roamed the breeze; 
Richer still the honey-bees. 

Broadest fields of golden wheat 
Nodded to the clover sweet. 
Making summer's prime complete. 



But the Autumn ripened fast, 
Bearing on its ruthless blast 
Lingering roses — summer's last. 

While decay with wing dark-singed, 
x\nd with finger crimson-tinged. 
All the woodland tree-tops fringed; 



WHAT THE VOICE SAID. 11 

Till a glory and a blush 
Fell o'er every hill and bush, 
In the great autumnal hush. 

Leaves fell silently and slow, 
In the peaceful sunset's glow. 
To the withered leaves below. 

For the red man's summer long 

Lingered like a parting song, 

The hushed hills, and woods among. 



But December, chill with gloom. 
Wailed a dirge o'er nature's tomb. 
Sighing for her buried bloom. 



o 



And her sighing seemed to say. 
With that voice at break of day, 
All things bright must fade away." 

Nature must in every clime 
Yield her gifts of God sublime. 
To the harvest scythe of time." 

Yet that hand which deals the blow, 
A fresh beauty can bestow 
As the changing seasons a'o." 



12 POEMS. 

"Resurrection is no dream! 
Nature types a fitting gleam, 
Of the God-liglit that shall seem," 

"' Floating round our loved ones there, 
In the calm celestial air 
Of the heavenly home so fair." 

" Faces long with dust allied, 
Noble hearts, and sorrow-tried. 
There shall greet us, glorified!^ 

'^ There, where living waters gleam, 
And the earth-life past shall seem, 
Like the shadow of a dream." 



SLEEP WELL. 



She lingers where the sun's last ray 

Upon the hill reposes. 
And gently o'er her soldier's grave 
Strews summer's latest roses. 
" Sleep well, my brave," she softly saith, 
"The willow-branch above thee. 
The twilight star, the wind's low breath, 
Shall whisper that I love thee." 



SLEEP WELL. lo 

•• Sleep well, my brave, no ruder tone 

Shall reach thy peaceful pillow. 
Than yon calm river's liquid moan, 

Or rustling of the willow. 
The fading leaves from yonder oak 

Shall softly drift above thee. 
And each one whisper as it falls. 

The secret that I love thee." 

''Thou sleepest well! thy rest is deep! 

No cry of mine may wake thee 5 
And here, though all the summer long. 

The song-birds ne'er forsake thee. 
Thou canst not hear their cheerful song. 

Nor mine, so full of aching. 
Then sleep thou well, my noble one. 

Nor heed this wild heart-breaking." 

"As man may do, thy truth is proved; 

Thy courage, and thy valor; 
And now, what matter though life's flus^ 

Be quenched in death-like pallor? 
'Tis I alone have not forgot 

While Autumn winds are sighing, 
To strew fresh roses o'er the spot 

Where thou, my brave, art lying." 

'•Sleep well, sleep well! for far away. 
Where angel harps are ringing. 



14 POEMS. 

I know tliy voice, on earth so sweet. 

Is mingled with their singing. 
And those pure eyes of thine now see 

Me at thy grave, me only. 
In the dim Autumn twilight left 

All desolate, and lonely.'' 



ONLY. 



Only another sword 

Dripping with human blood; 
Only another drop 

Swelling the crimson flood. 



^& 



Only another tear 

Wiped from the face of time; 
Only a brother dear 

Lost in his manhood's prime ! 

Smoothly the garments fold 
Over the silent breast. 

Only another soul 

Gone to its dreamless rest! 



MY MOTHER. 15 



MY MOTHER. 



My Mother! — 'tis the gentlest word 

E'er heard from mortal tongue j 
And on that word in earlier years 

My childish accents hung, 
Unconscious then, of all she wrought 

In tenderness for. me, 
\Yhen I was but a fretful child, 

Upon that mother's knee. 

My Mother ! ah, the thrilling word I 

Could angel eyes look down 
To watch my bed-side while I sleep, 

I'd think they were her own, — 
Her tender eyes! Ah! never more 

Shall slightest look from me, 
Cause one sad tear within those eyes 

To dim their brilliancy. 

Her gentle voice within whose tone 

Forever sweet and kind, 
I've often found a soothing balm 

For my o'erwearied mind; 
It thrills me yet! Like summer eves 

When storm and cloud have past, 
Its memory in my spirit leaves 

A calm too sweet to last. 



16 POEMS. 

My Mother! ah, these tender words, 

Ml/ Mother, in whose heart 
A welcome place is ever kept 

For my own love apart. 
How might I on that bosom now 

As in the days of yore, 
Drink in the sweetness of those eyes, 

And hear that voice once more. 



LINES. 

High thoughts lie stillest, and high brows 

Are calm; 
But who to the way-worn spirit 
Can minister true balm? 

The brow may rise serene; the eye 

May beam 
As though no canker in the heart 
Did grow; the world may deem, 

No worm hath ever pierced its leaves, 

Nor care. 
Alas! no heart so blest but grief 
Will soon find lodsrment there. 



CONSUMPTION. 17 

And there is only one can send 

True rest 
Through all life's ebbing waves; for life 
In him alone is blest. 

The high and holy One! whose brow 

Of light, 
Reflected clearly down through life, 
Can make our own brows bright. 



CONSUMPTION. 



Thy smiles are for the grave ! Thy brilliant eyes 

With their calm earnest look, thy virgin brow, 

Are all marked for the grave. I've watched the skies 

At sunset, 'ere the last faint hues have died, 

And seen amid the flickering light, a queenly star 

arise 
All luminous, and pure; and often I have thought, 
How like are thy dear eyes which beam so clearly 

forth, 
To that fair evening star. Above the rosy tinge 
Which flushes now thy cheek, they kindle and grow 

bright. 
The day-beam flickers; and as night creeps on 
That star sinks to its rest. Yet murmur not ! 

2* A 2 



18 POEMS. 

Thy trembling lips shall soon awake in song 
Triumphant over death. Oh ! when the soft winds 

come 
And murmur o'er thy grave, how will my sad heart 

mourn ! 
Then life will seem a weary clog to keep my soul 

from thine. 
The flowers will bloom again — the flowers which we 

have loved, 
The singing birds will come, and warble round our 

door, 
The southern winds will come, breathing their summer 

song. 
But ah ! ^mid all these sights, and sounds, 
Thy voice will come no more — no more ! 
Move gently, calmly, on ! No bitter pain 
Will mar thy peaceful death. Thine eyes will softly 

close. 
And as thy last breath parts, the tranquil soul will 

soar, 
Where death, with wasting hand, shall never reach 

thee more. 



I REMEMBER. 19 



I EEMEMBER. 



I REMEMBER it well, — the queer wee house. 

With its roof all thatched and brown, 
It nestled close to the hill's broad base, 

Just one mile from the town : 
And Maud lived there, the miller's child, 

The miller old and stern, 
Who knew that she, with her childish ways, 

Had all things yet to learn. 

I remember her well: she was just fifteen 

When the early snow flakes fell, 
A sweeter face I had never seen. 

And I learned to love her well. 
But the old man died, and a stranger came 

To dwell in the lonely place; 
And my welcome there was not the same, 

Except from Maud's kind face. 

I remember them all; — the frozen stream 

That slumbered beside her door. 
The silent mill, whose echoing clang 

Was heard on the hills no more; 
The still white mantle of spotless snow 

That shrouded her humble roof. 
The long sad days, when vrith heavy heart, 

I silently kept aloof. 



20 POEMS. 

But tlie spring returned, and the violet blue 

Sprang up by the murmuring stream, 
And old Millvale was fair once more 

As the page of an angel's dream. 
But a soft white hand that was clasped in mine, 

And an eye with its starry gleam. 
Were fairer far in that sweet old time, 

Than the page of an angel's dream. 

I remember them all at old Millvale, 

The mill-stream, and the mill, 
The old brown house, whose shrunken frame 

Stands mouldering there still: 
But Maud's dark eyes, and graceful form. 

Are huried near that stream. 
And her memory comes through sorrow's storm 

Like the thought of a peaceful dream. 



THE MURDER OF RUTLAND. 

Rutland — " Oh let me pray before I take my death, 
To thee I pray ', sweet Clifford pity me ! 
Clifford — Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
Rutland — I never did thee harm, Avhy wilt thou slay me? 
Clifford — Thy father slew my father ; therefore die." 



Oh, cruel Clifford! spare that boy, 
So innocent, and free, 



THE MURDER OF RUTLAND. 21 

Who never in his little life 

Has thought to injure thee. 
Lift not thy hcand to harm that head 

With all its shining hair, 
As thou would'st ever look to heaven, 

And hope for mercy there. 

See those sweet eyes with all the wealth 

, Of heaven in their blue, 
Now raised in tearful agony 

With their mute prayer to you; 
And those pale, trembling, pleading lips, 
Lisping their earnest cry — 
"Oh, Clifford! Clifford! pity me! 
Say, wherefore must I die?" 

Oh! shame upon thy vengeful soul; 

Throw down the glittering steel! 
Has thy proud heart, once young like his. 

Forgotten how to feel? 
'Tis true that in an angry hour 

His father slew thine own. 
But, think you for his father's sin 

That poor boy should atone? 

See him now crouching at thy feet 
In agony of fright, 



22 POEMS. 

See liis pale clieek all wet with tears; 

Look, Clifford, on the sight! 
Those little hands so tightly clasped, 

Have clasped thine own before, 
Now they are raised in prayer to thee, 

Oh! what would'st thou have more? 

Take his young life from out his veins? 

Forever hush that voice? 
Oh! what remorse will sting thy soul 

If this is now thy choice. 
For very shame throw down thy sword, 

Have mercy on the boy; 
Upraise his trembling form, and fill 

His little heart with joy. 

Thou wilt not? oh, revenge is strong 

Within thy stony heart; 
His father's crime hath hardened thee, 

And made thee what thou art. 
But oh! remember, there is One, 

Who though to anger slow, 
Will one day disregard fhi/ prayer, 

And leave thy soul to woe. 



AN INVOCATION. 23 



AN INVOCATION. 



I, IN tliis central patch liemmed round 
With disappointments, deep and long; 

Within whose gloomy thread is found 
No fabric for a cheerful song, 

Would look to Thee. 

High over yonder mountain gleams 
The morning star, divinely clear; 

The hills look up to catch its beams, 
As doth my waiting spirit here. 
Look up to Thee. 

Oh, morning star of happiness. 

Look down and light my soul within; 

Illumine every dark recess 

Where sorrow's lingering steps have been, 
And set me free! 



THE SAME OLD PLACE. 

I CANNOT drive away the vision of those years! 
Still, still mine eyes o'erclouded with their tears, 

Graze dimly through the past. • 

Oh! how I long for thee. AVilt thou not come? 
"No more" — my sad heart answers, till at home 

We all shall meet at last. 



24 POEMS. 

I tear away the covering, and disclose to view 
Thy dearest features; while a tear or two 

Falls o'er the inanimate eyes. 
Oh ! heart of mine, poor throbbing weight, be still ! 
Is passion stronger than thy strongest will ? 

This sorrow is not wise. 

Vain reasoning! as I hold it in my hand, 
(This little picture) all my self-command 

Is gone, entirely gone! 
I press it to my heart, and close my weary eyes, 
To shut out all things bright beneath the smiling skies, 

Save this one face alone 

The same old place for thee! No other voice 
Has echoed through the soul of thy first choice, 

Nor shall, — till in eternity, 
Thy face shall seek my face, thy mind my mind, 
Thy dearest heart my heart; and there shall find, 

The same old 'place for thee I 



THOUGHTS AT SUNSET. 

The autumn leaves are falling now 

Upon this rustic seat. 
Where thou and I, in happier hours, 

Have often loved to meet. 



THOUGHTS AT SUNSET. 25 

The same old homestead on the hill 

Looks westward to the sun; 
Its windows sparkle in the light, 

And day is almost done. 

Why is it that a strange unrest 

Within my bosom burns, 
As o'er these once familiar scenes 

My tearful eye now tarns? 

Why is it that I cannot learn 

To conquer and control. 
These nameless lono-ino'S that arise 

Within my troubled soul? 

Why is it? Oh! I miss the voice 
That made me so light-hearted: 

My life has been a weary round 
Since thou and I last parted. 

They tell me, that the earth is glad : 

I know her beauty, well. 
For nature smiles though hearts are sad, 

Too deeply sad to tell. 

They tell me that my hope is vain. 

The past has gone, they say; 
Ah, well ! I hardly dare to look 

Within my heart to-day. 

3 B 



26 POEMS. 

The evening breezes murmur low 

Around this lonely seat, 
And scatter all the golden leaves, 

Which rustle at my feet. 

And now the last foint hues have died 

Behind the western hill; 
And left the earth more like my heart, 

My heart more sad and chill. 

Why is it? Oh! I miss the smile 
That made me so light-hearted: 

My life has been a weary round 
Since thou and I last parted. 



PRAYER ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

We wrapped the flag around his form — 
, The flag for which he died; 
We placed his sword, all stained with blood, 

In silence by his side. 
We spake no word, we shed no tear, 

But in the waning light, 
Each raised a silent prayer to heaven, 

For victory in the right. 



THE CHANGE. 27 

Oh! who shall say that earnest prayer 

Was offered up in vain, 
Or say 'twas chance that ruled the day 

And marked the loss or gain? 
There is a God above us all, 

Whose heart is moved by prayer. 
And when we plead the rightful cause, 

Will make that cause his care. 

Strike, then, for liberty and peace ! 

Avenge the noble dead! 
Strike! for the tears in silence wept 

For every fallen head. 
Strike! that rebellion now may cease; 

And you who stand aloof. 
Come in your country's hour of need 

And give your loyal proof. 



THE CHANGE. 

Look where the baby lies, 
All still and white. 

With dark, unmoving eyes 
So strangely bright! 



28 POEMS. 



What fixes now his gaze 
Far off through space? 

Does he, in sweet amaze, 
See one lost face? 

Ah ! image of the dead, 

Left lone on earth, 
A glory that hath fled. 

Smiled on thy birth. 
Now, in the silent night. 

Thy dream fulfil — 
Gaze with inspired sight, 

And see her still. 

Look where the baby lies, 

All cold and white, 
With strange, unmeaning eyes 

No longer bright. 
Where hath the spirit fled 

Through yonder space? 
Do baby and the dead 

Stand face to face? 

Ah! image of the lost, 

Thy lot is blest j 
Thy little hands are crost, 
'Thy thoughts at rest. 



TWILIGHT AFTER A STORM. 29 

Here, in the silent niglit, 
My soul stands awed; 
" Death brought the torch to light 
Thy soul to God! 



TWILIGHT AFTER A STORM. 

Most sweet of all the hours of day! 
The noise, and glare, have passed away. 
And one pure star gleams in the west 
Lighting the song-bird to its rest. 
The storm hath passed, and still, and clear, 
As when the infant morn is near, 
Shines the fair sky; and fairer far 
Is that one dazzling, pointed star, 
For all the storm-clouds past, I ween, 
Than if those clouds had never been. 
Oh! is it that an hour like this 
Can fill no mourning heart with bliss? 
Nor high resolve, nor warm desire, 
The eye uplift, nor spirit fire? 
Calm as some dream of heaven, conceived 
By angel mind, that ne'er hath grieved 
O'er cares of earth, the placid sky 
Bends smiling o'er the mountains high, 
3* 



30 POEMS. 

While through the valley, far and near, 
The voices of the night grow clear; 
The sighing wind — the rill's low tone, 
The melancholy night-bird's morn, 
And myriad voices that impart 
A soothing quiet to the heart. 



TO THEE I COME. 

Thy holy blood, and precious tears, 
Oh! were they shed for me? 

And may I casting off my fears 
In meekness come to thee? 

Yes! thou hast bid me look above 
To where thou art enthroned, 

And think of all thy dying love, 
Which for my sin atoned. 

The heavy cross was borne for me, 

For me thy blood was spilt, ^ 
That I might one day look to thee 

To wash away my guilt. 
Then take it now — this broken heart 

I lay it at thy feet, 
And guard it till from earth I part, 

And thee in glory meet. 



LONGINGS. 31 

For there are trials to be borne, 

Temptations to be met, 
Along life's path from early morn, 

Until life's sun is set: 
And thou, Lord, alone canst know 

How oft temptations win. 
With false allure, and outward show, 

The good that is within. 

Then take my heart, and keep it near 

To thy most blessed feet. 
That I may live with conscience clear 

Thy loving glance to meet. 
And when at last all grief is o'er. 

And death creeps o'er my form. 
Oh ! take my hand on that dim shore 

And shield me from the storm. 



LONGINGS. 

Oh! for a gleam of light from youth's long lost 

aurora. 
To gild once more the tenor of life's changeful 

dream • 
To cull one gentler thought from love's proud book 

of sorrow, 
Whose blood-red leaves went drifting down oblivion's 

stream. 



32 POEMS. 

Oh ! for the clear soul glance of eyes long closed in 

darkness, 
Whose light still made life glad, with hope of joy in 

store. 
Oh! for the tender clasp of hands long crossed in 

silence. 
Whose slightest touch was bliss, that can return no 



Oh ! for that peace of heart which crowneth all the 

desert. 
Like evening's rosy hue, when tempest-winds are 

past: 
That it might waft me on, with hopes and fears 

faith-guided 
To that high realm of peace, where longings cease 

at last. 



IF. 



If Life indeed he Life, 
Live well! 
Its hours are brief as summer's breath, 
And solemn as the voice of death. 

Which ends, at last, the strife. 



MY LOST SCHOOL-MATE. 33 

If Truth indeed be Truth, 
Look up! 
Blush not to act a nobler part, 
With truth's fresh garland round thy heart, 

To renovate thy youth. 

If Love indeed be Love, 
Have faith! 
For ever constant to its trust, 
True love, made pure from earthly dust, 

Will shine supreme above. 

If Grod indeed he God, 
Serve Him! 
No life is found, though sorrow- tried, 
With peace of heart more sanctified, 

Than in the path He trod. 



MY LOST SCHObL-MATE. 

She was my friend, both tried, and true : 
Our young hearts knew no sweeter love, 

Than that we for each other knew, 
And for each other sought to prove. 



34 POEMS. 

Oh, loved and lost! tliougli swift and sad, 
The heavy-hearted moments wear. 

One thought of heaven makes me glad; 
'Tis, "that thou art an angel there." 

Those eyes, those earnest eyes of thine ! 

They beam ujDon my memory yet. 
Like rays of starlight half divine, 

From under eyelids dewy wet 
When we two parted. Oh! the fear 

That we might never meet again. 
Called up that hour the blinding tear, 

And filled our yearning hearts with pain. 

We parted then. I was not near 

To see thy waning life grow dim; 
Nor hear one word of comfort dear, 

Before thy rest was found in Him 
Who heals all sorrows. Thine, were brief 

As clouds upon a spring sky fair, 
And now, I joy in full belief — 

Thou art a shining angel there. 

Our hearts together seemed to blend 
In those sweet childish days of old; 

Our joys seemed not to have an end. 
Our well of thoughts seemed never told. 



MY LOST SCHOOL-MATE. 35 

We wandered oft, by hill, and stream, 

All arm in arm, as school-girls walk. 
With hearts more pure than poet's dream, 



And thus we mingled girlish talk. 



Oh, friend ! those years are long gone by, 

Far down the horizon seems to glow 
My star of hope, which shone so high, 

Undimmed by earthly care, or woe. 
But thou art high, where years are not, 

Forever shining bright and fair; 
Say! am I now by thee forgot, 

Although thou art an anuel there? 



No answer from the starlit skies 

Through the night-stillness greeteth me, 
Far off the tranquil river lies. 

Where oft my footsteps roved with thee. 
No friendship since like thine hath blest. 

No blue eyes beamed their constant truth, 
Since thine were closed in dreamless rest, 

Sweet spirit-mate of my lost youth! 



36 POEMS. 



QUIETLY. 



Quietly flow the crystal waters 

Over the sparkling sand, 
Wandering gently through the meadows, 

Parting: the fruitful land. 



'G 



Quietly shine the noon-day sunheams 

Over the land and stream, 
Crowning the landscape with a beauty 

Bright as an angel's dream. 

Quietly fall the leaves of autmnn, 

Kiss'd by the wooing wind; 
Quietly rise, through dreamy stillness. 

Scenes that are left behind. 

Memory peers through far-off shadows. 

Back to a golden time; 
Sees by the stream a happy maiden, 

Linking her thoughts in rhyme. 

Sees by her side, through those dim shadows, 

One in the glow of youth. 
Vowing a vow, full deep, and tender. 

Earnest with love and truth. 



GONE. 37 

Sees by her side, through those vague shadows, 

One who will speak no more, 
Save from his shroud in silent language, 

Down hy the river-shore. 

Quietly fall the leaves of autumn, 

Over the crystal stream; 
But the quiet joy of days gone by, 

Can live but in a dream. 

Quietly shine the golden sunbeams 

Over the meadow-land; 
But the heart still yearns to meet once more 

The touch of a parted hand. 



GONE. 

Where have the golden sunsets fled 

That lit my native shore? 
The clouds hang dull; the leaves lie dead; 

And bright days come no more. 

Oh! mourning heart, rejoice! 

Stern winter soon will die. 
And spring, with gentle voice, 

Call back the golden sky. 



38 ' POEMS. 

Where have the kindred spirits fled, 

Who trod my native shore? 
Their graves are cold, where flowers lie dead, 

Their bright smiles come no more! 

Oh ! mourning heart, weep on ! 

No changes of the year 
Can bring the loved ones gone; 

Their spring-time is not hei'e. 



I ASK NOT. 



I ASK not that the joys of earth 

May ever thus be mine, 
I only ask that light divine 
Within my heart may shine, 
To banish night, 
And o-uide arii!:ht, 
x\nd make me wholly Thine. 

I ask not that the cup of life 
Be free from sorrow's stain, 
I only ask that in the strife 
Some joy may follow pain; 
Some ray from Thee 
May follow me. 
And make me smile asrain. 



LITTLE JIM. 39 

Nor do I ask that fame may lay 

Her laurels at my feet; 
Enough to feel around my way 
Thy sunlight falling sweet,— 
A glory shed 
Around my head, 
From thy dear mercy-seat. 

I ask not that my years may grow 

To number many more; 
Thou knowest best, and knowing so, 
A journey to the shore, 
With tranquil breast, 
And fears at rest, 
And ask for nothing more. 



LITTLE JIM. 



The light within his hazel eyes 

Was faded, wan, and dim, 
As though the joyous hours of life 

Had seldom shone for him; 
And none had ever thought, or cared, 

For little beggar Jim. 



40 POEMS. 

And yet, his years were very few; 

"Just six" I heard him say, ^ 
When I smoothed back his sun-burnt hair 

And wiped his tears away. 
But ah ! that look with which he said — 

"Just six years old to-day !'' 

He was no child to win the glance 
Of proud contempt, or scorn; 

His features small, were formed more fair 
Than many nobler born; 

And in his dauntless little breast 
A heavy heart was worn. 

Bare-headed, in the burning sun 

He roamed the crowded street. 
I vowed to claim him for my own 

Next time we chanced to meet; 
But ah! no more the burning sun. 

Nor crowded street for him; 
Kind Heaven has claimed the friendless one. 

The little beggar Jim. 



TWILIGHT. 41 



TWILIGHT. 



Sweet twiliglit! — sister of the day, 
Who, with thy tender hand doth lead 

Her brightness to repose; 
How sweet to weary hearts, depressed 

With hourly griefs art thou! 

How like an angel's wing of peace, 
Most gently folded over all. 

Thy softness lightly comes! 
Sinks in the heart, and soothing there 

Its discord, sweetly reigns. 

Recalling thoughts of earlier hours, 
And youthful feelings long gone by; 

Yet bringing not regret. 
But softening all; and pointing far 

To where the weary rest. 

And, as thy shadows deepen round, 
Mark where the evening star grows bright 

Above the shrouded world; 
The night draws on!- 

Her beauty fuller beams. 
4* b2 



42 POEMS. 

So witli the heart; — amid the din, 
And dazzUng brightness of the day, 

Its light is ahnost lost: 
The mind grows weary, steps grow faint, 

And all things seem confused: 



But when the ticilight sweetly comes. 
The hidden light begins to dawn 
From out the secret soul; 



And star-like round the troubled mind, 
Weaves peaceful dreams of hope. 

And memory too, like that strange flower, 
Unfolds its leaflets one by one 

When others all are closed. 
Hour of the heart ! Sweet twilight hour ! 

Sweet gleaner of the past! 



GO! 

I'll pray for thee, I'll pray for thee, my noble-hearted 

son! 
Gro forth and fight for liberty until the cause is won. 
It may seem strange a while to miss thy comfort, and 

thy care. 
But now our army calls for aid, and thou art needed 

there. 



ASPIRATIONS. 43 

I'll pray for tliee, I'll pray for tliee, go forth upon 
thy way : 

A mother's love shall follow thee, and bless thee, 
day by day. 

I would not place my feeble hand before thy kind- 
ling eyes, 

While gazing on the altar — red with freedom's sacri- 
fice ! 

No ! leave me now, and act thy part. Yet sometimes 
at the hour 

When twilight shadows gather round, and gentler 
thoughts have power 

To sway the heart, oh! think of her who hourly 
prays for thee ; 

And bind the watch-word to thy heart — the watch- 
word, ^'■Liberty." 



ASPIRATIONS. 



The soul, the soul must rise above 
The fleeting joys of earth; 

Aspire to something higher far, 
Something of nobler birth! 



44 POEMS. 

The upward glance, the weary sigh, 
These are the things which speak 

The feeling words can ne'er express, 
Although they vainly seek. 

The dearest joy the world can give, 

Still leaves unsatisfied 
The weary soul, that ever craves, 

And will not be denied. 
Its voice is often stilled beneath 

The tumult it is lain, 
Yet like a sword from out its sheath, 

It flashes forth again. 

Hast ever watched an eagle's flight 

Till almost lost to view. 
Nor wished, as earthward fell that glance, 

Such wings belonged to you; 
That you might proudly soar away, ■ 

Where all is pure, and bright, 
And angel eyes alone behold 

The progress of your flight? 

Oh ! there are hours when thoughts like these 
Come rushing o'er the mind; 

We long to join the infinite 
And leave the world behind. 



LINES TO THE DEPARTED. 45 

Alas! liow often such desires. 



Like rockets in the sky, 
Attain a certain hrilUant height 
Then in the darkness die. 

How often too, the yearning soul 

Murmurs its silent prayer, 
xYnd worships beauty in the stars, 

And beauty everywhere; 
Yet ah! beyond that starry vail 

Unmindful still to look, 
Or worship Him, whose name is writ 

In nature's glowing book. 



LINES TO THE DEPARTED. 

Last time I saw thy happy face, . 
So full of love, and youthful grace. 

The early spring-flowers bloomed. 
I little dreamed ^ere summer past. 
Her golden days would be thy last. 

And thou to death be doomed. 

I mourn for thee, thou fair young bride I 
The white rose fading at thy side 
Beneath the coffin lid, 



46 POEMS. 

Thy tender hands so dumbly crost, 
Oh ! thou the loved, and early lost, 
Can I these tears forbid? 

My words of gi"ief can move thee not. 
The earth now holds but one small spot 

Devoted to thy rest. 
Yet in our hearts thy form shall live. 
And this one thought sweet comfort give. 

That "thou art with the blest." 

There is thy home ! as some fixed star 
Shines from its place in heaven afar, 

Thy spirit-realm is found. 
Beyond the whirlwind, and the storm, 
Thy voice is tuneful, though thy form 

Lies slumbering in the ground. 



THE STREAMLET. 



Pure streamlet gurgling at my feet. 
How clear thy waters flow! 

Beneath the surface, one can count 
Each stone that e;leams below. 



YE4RNINGS. 47 

And mirror'd there, the April sky 

Beholds her royal blue; 
With here and there, a swan-like cloud, 

Just lightly skimming through. 

Fit emblem thou of that sweet time. 

When mind shall see through mind; 
When disembodied soul shall blend 

With soul of kindred kind: 

And there shall see, reflected clear. 

Each thought unhidden lie. 
As thy pure depth reflects below, 

The life-light of the sky. 



YEARNINGS. 



()h that I were a wild, free bird. 

That I might fly away and be at rest. 

Where never mortal voice is heard ! 

I would wander far o'er the billow's breast 

To some fair isle, whose loneliness is sweet. 

Whose air is balm, whose solitude complete I 



48 POEMS. 

(jrray walls shut out the sunlight fair, 

Bright thoughts are bounded by the vision's scope 

Which here is limited. But there, 

No dreary walls, no gloom would darken hope 

Of peaceful days, and joys which should not be 

Mere fleeting phantoms, as they seem to me. 

There the still evening hours would seem, 
(While sunset's glory flooded all the sea,) 

Like the still picture of a dream 

Which oft in childhood, hath appeared to me — 

Of that far home whose beauty is divine. 

Oh ! that such dreams might once again be mine. 

There the illimitable sea 

My God, would speak thy greatness; far and few 
The bright isles whisper but of Thee 

Among their leafy solitudes. The blue 
And boundless sky, stretching from pole to pole, 
With thine immensity, would awe my soul! 

Oh! would that I might flee away. 

The wild bird knoweth not a care, save one — 
Where she shall rest, at close of day. 

Her gay, sea-roving wing; then with the sun 
Next morn she wakens, to traverse the sea 
With eye new-lighted, ever joyfully! 



YEARNINGS. 49 

In that calm isle methioks no siffli. 



Xo wild, wild yearning would escape the heart. 
To breathe the air of that pure sky 

Were bliss enough; for I should seem a part 
Of all things round me — the dim, leafy wood, 
The low-voiced wave — tongue of the solitude! 

No vexing cares would there intrude; 

No unkind thoughts or wishes be expressed; 
No tearful prayers for fortitude 

To bear life's ills, for ills would be at rest. 
Oh I could such home to mortal heart be given, 
Then every heart might find on earth its heaven ! 

Yet this cannot be so. Beyond 

Earth's farthest bound live the pure joys we seek 
The loved ones gone before — the fond — 

With spirits glorified, and bright eyes meek. 
From which all tears are wiped for evermore — • 
There they await us on the farther shore. 

Of that dim river, which no eye 

May see, until our feet have touched its waves. 
Oh! for strong faith to check each sigh 

O'er trials to be buried in our graves. 
2''hcij rise not with the good at that great day, 
When none shall wish in vain, for wings to flee away 



L 



50 POEMS. 



SILENTIA. 



Silence now, — each thought seems frozen 

To a dull and lifeless calm, 
Thinking of the words once chosen 

To . describe me as I am. 
Not as I then was, remember, 

In those days (so long ago) 
Of the mild and bright September, 

When two sad lips told me so. 

Silence now: oh! hapless dreamer — 

Dreaming ever of the past, 
It is now those words are truer, 

Than when they were uttered last. 
"Cold and heartless" — ah, the death-damp 

Gathering o'er pale sufferer's brow, 
May look cold beneath the night-lamp. 

But those drops are frozen now. 

Whether wrung from pain, or anguish, 

On the brow, or in the eye, 
They have gone, and left forever 

Silent calm, without a sigh. 
Hapless dreamer! dreaming ever 

On the sunless Lethe's shore. 
Of the days that went and left thee 

Cold and tearless evermore. 



THE WINTER NIGHT. 51 

Sadness now for eyes so peerless 

That they scarcely look abroad j 
While the skies so dull and cheerless, 

Seem to hide the smile of Grod. 
Silence now! lips spoke untruhj : 

Eyes forgot to read aright, 
When they came to judge unduly 

Of a soul-love hid from sight. 

Silence now, then, and forever. 

No word spoken loud, or bold. 
Thus it is some are mistaken, 

While the careless deem them cold. 
"Cold and heartless" — ah! the heart-acAe 

'Mid the jostling crowd and din, 
'Tis the undertone our lives make. 

Wrung from out the pain within. 



THE WINTER NIGHT. 

The ever weary watchful day. 
With all its glare, hath passed away. 

The night is here. 
And through the cold and sparkling air, 
The moonbeams glisten everywhere, 

Most beautifully clear. 



52 POEMS. 

No single cloud! but all serene 
The starry heavens seem to lean 

More near the earth. 
The same old stars whose music rang 
Throughout creation, when they sang 

Together at their birth. 

The river glancing in the light, 
Reflects another moon as white 

As that on high. 
And countless stars are shining there, 
As they had fallen through the air. 

And left their native sky. 

Above, beneath me, and around, 
All things are lovely : not a sound 

Disturbs the ear. 
And grief remembered, does but seem 
More like the sorrow of a dream, — 

Less wortliy of a tear. 



LINES TO A WANDERER. 

My heart is like the ocean deep, 
Whose waves toss wild and free, 

Where none may listen or reply 
To their sad melody. 



LINES TO A WANDERER. 53 

Sometimes a golcleu wave rolls out 

Upon the barren shore; 
But ah! its music is a moan 

Which echoes more and more. 



I 



As back it flows, with ceaseless tide, 
To where the depths are stirred, 

By feelings too profound to breathe 
By look, or sign, or word. 

Oh thou! where'er on earth thou art — 

My inspiration given, 
Would that my light for thee could shine 

To guide thy soul to Heaven! 

Would that the stars which nightly beam 

Above the lonely sea. 
Could whisper thoughts unto thy soul, 

Such as they bring to me. 

They speak of life where sorrows cease. 
Beyond the march of years, 

They sweetly soothe my aching heart, 
And calm my troubled fears. 

And often when at midnight hour 
Alone I watch them shine, 

I think how love at last is crowned 
Immortal, and divine : — 

5* 



54 POEMS. 

How nought is vain; each little orb 
That sparkles in the sky, 

Is like the little acts of love, 
Which never, never die. 

And so each effort to endure 
The cross upon us lain, 

Will aid the weak immortal soul, 
A heavenly crown to gain. 



THREE YEARS. 



Thrice have the swallows homeward flown, 
Thrice have the autumn leaves 

From yonder naked boughs been blown. 
And scattered by the breeze; 

Thrice have the stars looked down to see 

The empty nest, the leafless tree. 

And where art tlwiif I seem to rove 

In some lone cavern dim. 
And list the winds and waves above 

Moan their perpetual hymn; 
While I forever sigh for thee, 
And echo their monotony. 



THE THREE GRACES. 55 

Ah, friend ! life's winds and waves are wild 1 

They part us beyond reach. 
'Tis little joy the spring-time mild 

A broken heart may teach; 
And now, it is December gloom, 
Both in my heart, and o'er thy tomb. 



THE THREE GRACES. 
FAITH. 

Bloom brightly little bud; 
All humble as thou art, 
God sendeth the still dew 
To nestle in thy heart; 
And all He sends is heat for thee. 
E'en though it be adversity. 

HOPE. 

Soar calmly my sweet bird. 

Ne'er flutter, faint, nor fail. 
Though many a mocking word 
Thine upward flight assail; 
'Ere long the starry heavens will ope, 
And crown with joy my patient hope. 



56 POEMS. 

CHARITY. 

Flow gently little stream 

Beneath a burning sky; 
Spread gladness like a gleam 
Of mercy from God's eye. 
Though parched the land, one touch from thee, 
May quench that thirst, oh charity! 



LINES TO 



Oh ! do not claim the picture now 

That I have loved so well, 
It still retains a dearer charm 

Than these poor lips can tell: 
I've sat and gazed on it for hours. 

And wept, and prayed, and longed. 
To clasp once more in mine, the hand 

Of her I blindly wronged. 

But now no more! — it is not well 

To break these thoughts to thee, 
Which linger still within my soul. 

In strange consistency 
With all my outward words and deeds ! 

Ah! how the heart may wear 
A mask of cold indifference. 

When only pain is there. 



GOD LOVE THEE. 57 

Here take it now! 'twas next my heart; 

And has been worth to me 
More in my utter loneliness, 

Than it can be to thee. 
Now leave my side I I cannot look 

With calmness in thine eyes, 
Since thou hast robbed my bosom of 

Its dearest earthly prize. 

But do not deem when thou art gone 

I shall be left alone: 
The imcard image I have drawn 

Shall still be all my own; 
And tell her, in some happier world 

It may be mine to prove, 
The deep repentance of my soul, 

And all its wealth of love. 



GOD LOVE THEE.' 



I 



"God love thee," is the simple prayer, 
That on my lips shall be. 
And may ray soul's devotion bear 
An answering gift to thee. 



58 POEMS. 

I'll breathe it when the rosy dawn 
Smiles in the eastern sky, 

And bid the fragrance of the morn 
Embalm it in a sigh. 

I'll breathe it when the dewy night 

Weeps o'er the dying day, 
Just when the lingering lines of light 

Melt lovingly away. 
I'll breathe it to each angel ear 

Attending vesper prayer, 
When mercy earthward leans to hear 

The sorrow uttered there. 

"Grod love thee" wheresoe'er thou art, 

And what thy fate may be — 
Shall be the one prayer that my heart 

Will ever breathe for thee. 
And when all earthly love is vain. 

And friendship proved untrue. 
Amid your sorrow and your pain, 

GocVs love still be with you. 



LOUISE SCHEPLER. 59 



LOUISE SCHEPLER. 

" Louise Schepler was the faithful servant and friend of the 
celebrated Lutheran pastor Oberlin, the author of Infant 
Schools, The last letter addressed by him to his children, for 
their perusal after his decease, affectionately commemorates her 
unwearied zeal in visiting and instructing the children of the 
mountain hamlets through all seasons, and in all circumstances 
of difficulty and danger." 

Ah! who wert thou, through mountain snow, 

Didst wend thy soHtary way, 
Undaunted by the piercing cold, 

Uncheered by fortune's smihng ray? 

A lonely pilgrim, weary, worn, 

Who heeded not the wintry gloom; 

But with thy trials meekly borne. 
Pursued thy pathway to the tomb.' 

And what wert thou in earlier days. 
Ere youth had left thy blushing cheek, 

And thy young eyes shone clearly forth 
Beneath a brow so pure and meek? 

A pilgrim then in duty's path, 

Both strong of limb and free of heart, 

With heavenly love and grace imbued, 
To act through life thy humble part. 



GO • POEMS. 

Thy hnmhie part! — ah, was it so? — 

The world has seen great names hung out, 

And blazoned round with fame's proud glow, 
Whose brilliant tints full oft depart. 

But thine Louise, a nobler fame 

Than earthly minds e'er speak or love, 

For angel eyes have read th^ name 
Upon the starry lists above. 



MUSIC OF THE DEEP. 

Oh! how often I have listened 

To the music of the deep, 
Watching the white waves that glistened 

In their far and sunny sweep; 
Watched and listened, till their language 

Filled my very soul and eyes. 
And the angels seemed to answer. 

Bending earthward from the skies. 

Deep and solemn was that music. 
Talking with me day by day, — 

Sweet and gentle, as a sister. 
Wooing my sad thoughts away. 



I 



MUSIC OF THE DEEP. 61 

Oil! I loved that solemn grandeur 

Of tlie wide and lonely sea, 
Speaking thoughts no other language 

Ever uttered unto me. 

Oft at evening when the last ray 

Of the golden • sun had gone, 
And the pale pure stars of heaven 

Shone out brightly one by one, 
I have watched the deepening shadows 

Stealing softly o'er the sea, 
'Till its waves were hid in darkness — 

Yet their music spake to me! 

Spake in tones that thrilled my spirit, 

As they were the voice of One 
Who could still an angry tempest — 

By a word — and it was done. 
Ah such music! bringing calmness 

With the quiet summer air; 
Would that all my prayers to heaven, 

Might be uttered only there. 

Far away from earthly yearnings. 

Lonely, with but Grod above. 
And the great calm deep around me, 

Emblem of his boundless love. 



62 POEMS. 

These are thoughts that fill my spirit 
As I dream of that lone shore, 

Where sweet music finds an echo. 
In my heart, for evermore. 



HOW LONG? 



How long ere such things cease to be? 
We dream of life ^mid April bloom, 
And wake in cold November gloom, 

To prove its stern reality! 

How long ere such things cease to 'be? 

I dropped the letter at my feet! 

Whereon the name, so sounding-sweet, 
Looked up as though in prayer to me. 

How long ere such things cease to be? 
I ask, as one whose joys are pastj — 
Whose sands run sunless to the last;— 

Is there no voice can answer me? 

How long? a whisper sad and low 

From out the darkness greeteth me; — 
"'Till dawn of heaven's eternity, 
Such things on earth must still he so.'* 



THE SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP. 63 

THE SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP. 

Clear as the silvery dew of morn 

That cools the opening flower, 
Bright as the star at twilight born 

To sparkle for an hour, 
Sweet as the wave-reflected hue 

Of evening's golden sky, — 
The smile of friendship, deep and true, 

That lightens up the eye. 

There is a smile which curls the lip 

In pride, or quiet scorn. 
Yet lingers not within the eye. 

Nor is of pity born; — 
A careless smile that hath no soul; 

Nor meaneth aught save this, — 
"Thy grief is thine, and is not mine. 

Life is but what it is." 

Oh ! passing sweet from eyes like these 

To turn where goodness beams; 
And read a smile, like that through life 

Hath haunted us in dreams: — 
An angel smile, so full of love. 

And tender sympathy. 
That looking back we almost lose 

Our old despondency. 



64 POEMS. 

And dearer than some cherished hope 

Long laid beneath the dust, 
Is that sweet feeling, warm and true, 

Of constant friendly trust. 
The dead are dear, yet they are gone, 

And living, we but know, 
How fiir one honest, loving friend, 

Can mitigate our woe. 



BRIGHT AND DARK. 

Be of good cheer! the sands which run 
So swiftly through the glass of time. 
May shine with beauty half divine 

If only looked at in the sun. 

We look too often through the shade 
Upon the moments parsing by, 
Forgetting with a weary sigh. 

For what, and how, our lives are made. 

Be of good cheer! yet have an aim; 
For every life must have its cares, 
And sorrow cometh unawares, 

To dreg the sweetest cup of fame. 



SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE. 65 

Our life is no mere roundelay 

By foolish children played and sung, 
Nor are our steps with roses hung, 

On which to trample by the way. 

The path is rough! but here and there, 
Across the dark, God's mercy gleams, 
And all the future brighter seems 

For these same flashes, rich and rare. 



SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE ? 

In Heaven's peaceful home, where dwells each bright 

immortal. 
Forever free from pain, and blest beyond compare ; 
When our two souls at last have crossed the sunny 

portal, 
Oh! tell me, shall we know and love each other 

there ? 

I know not, and ^ooidd know! There are some 

thoughts which fill 
The heart with vague unrest, when it would banish 



c 2 



GG POEMS. 

And there is one burns deep wlien others all arc 

still : 
'Tis this, — " shall we two know and love each other 

there r 

If only this were true, I'd welcome with a smile 
Each cloud of grief that floats beneath the encircling 

blue, 
And sing away the sadness of earth's little while, 
With free and gladsome heart, if only this were true ! 

But Grod, who gave all love, implanted in our souls 
A never-ending hope beyond this life of care; 
And that enduring hope, while life still onward rolls. 
Oft whispers we shall meet, and love each other there. 



SHIPWRECKED. 



Look where the wrecks go down! 

Some silently and slow 
Upon the sea of life. 

Full freighted with their woe; 
Others, with tattered sail 

From battling with rough wind. 
Sink down with mournful wail, 

Nor leave one trace behind. 



SHIPWRECKED. 07 

Look where the wrecks go down, 

All round us on the way; 
Some strike on sudden rock, 

With warning clear as day; 
And some with calmest tide. 

Whose course hath still been bright, 
Beneath the dark waves hide 

Their last uncertain light. 

Look where the wrecks go down, 

With Heaven full in view, 
With warnings everywhere 

To guide the traveler through. 
Look where the wrecks go down, 

Or wander tempest-tossed, 
With light and anchor gone; 

For ever, ever, lost! 

Oh soul of mine keep calm! 

Sail firmly on thy way. 
To meet the great "I am" 

At Heaven's all-crowning day. 
Thy fears will all be o'er. 

Thy anchor then at rest, 
And thou for evermore 

Safe havened with the blest! 



68 POEMS. 



A WISH. 



When tlie red leaves foil, 
And the sun shines down through the mist 

Like a burning eye; 
When the silent air seems rife 

(I know not why,) 
With a spirit's voiceless strife. 

When all have fallen. 
The bright, the beautiful, the ever dear, 

In the dust to lie. 
When naught is left of fresh earth's beauty here, 

Oh! let me die. 



II. 



In the quiet woods: 



When the violets no more bloom. 

Where the wintry winds may sigh 

Above my lonely tomb. 

Where the withered leaves may spread 

Beneath the open sky, 

Their rustling curtain round my head, 

There let me die. 



THE PHANTOM VOICE. 69 



III. 



But ivhen spring retiums, 

When bright things once more bloom, 
When earth with joy is rife, 

Oh! whisper above my tomb, 
And call me back to life! 



THE PHANTOM VOICE. 

As one who walketh at even-tide. 
Along some shadowy river-side. 

Reflective and alone; 
Recalling memories that are dear. 
And listening with attentive ear 

To that deep river's moan; 

So I, in these failing years of life, 
While looking back through the noisy strife 

In which I late have moved; 
Recall to my heart a vanished tone. 
Sweet, sad, and low, as the river's moan. 

The voice of her I loved. 

As one who searcheth some cavern still, 
To find the source of a hidden rill 
His steps have followed long; 



70 POEMS. 

And mourneth because the search is vain, 
et follows the streaml 
Enamored of its sont 



Yet follows the streamlet back again 



'o> 



So I, as I rove the world about, 
With the last faint gleam of joy gone out 

In bitterness and woe; 
Endeavor to clasp the phantom voice 
Of the one who was my heart's first choice, 

And died so long ago! 



LINES. 

There are those who around me are happy and glad 
But their mirth wakes no echo within my lone 
breast, 
Like the wind that keeps moaning its requiem sad, 
Is the tone of my grief, though subdued and 
supprest. 

Is harmony blended in earth blooming flowers ? 

Does music awaken the soul-thrilling thought? 
The roses soon fade in the sweetest of bowers. 

And rapture, and discord, are closely inwrought. 



LIFE. 71 

Is the flush of the morning refreshing and sweet, 
When the broad laughing sun creeps above the 
cahn sea? 

Oft the fliir summer day, and the stormy night meet, 
And both are alike in their meaning to me. 

Yet oft when at evening I watch the bright star 
Which tremulous hangs in its zenith of light. 

And know 'tis the herald of beauty unborn, — 
The deep solemn beauty of star-crowded night. 

I feel that no matter how fleeting its ray, 

Or how dark the stern fate against which I rebel; 

If the gems are but hidden throughout the long day, 
To sparkle at midnight, why all will be well. 



LIFE. 

Look how they come, — a mingled crowd 
Of bright and dark, but rapid days ; 

Beneath them, like a summer cloud, 
The wide world changes as I gaze." 



Oh Life! so brief thy busy day, — 
Would that the hours which slip away 
Could be revised. 



72 POEMS. 

Alas! tliy moments come and go. 
And few there are who care to know 
If they are prized. 

The golden sunbeams fade away, 
The night soon follows after day, 

Man's work is done. 
And thus tliy golden moments past, 
May end in darkness, when at last 

His race is run. 

Oh! lived we only more for Heaven^ 
Enough of earth would still be given 

For nature's call. 
But thousands hurry to and fro. 
And spend thy precious hours as though 

This life were all. 



THE INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT. 

'Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun ! 

One mellow smile thi'ough the soft vapory air, 
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run 

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare." 

Bryant. 



Not now, still earth; I would not leave thee now, 
In the strange beauty of thy twilight hour. 



THE INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT. 73 

Though shadows lengthen o'er the withered bough; 
Though dead the leaves, and gone the fragrant 
flower, 

I would not leave thee now. 

For yet the brightness blooms in yonder sky. 

Oh! rich and radiant beyond compare 
Are these November eves. No weary sigh 

Uprising from the heart should vex the air, 
Nor trembling wish to die. 

Not now, not now ! I would not leave thee now. 

For yet a little while the sun smiles bright 
O'er beauty's grave ; gilding the naked bough, 

And flinging over all ere winter's night, 
A golden charm as now. 

How long these hues remain ! E'en while the moon 
Hangs peerless in the sky, the clouds are bright 

In the far west : — soft floating things, that soon 
Must hide their beauty in the garb of night. 
As must yon crescent moon. 

Down deep within the water's chilly blue, 

. Reflected stars lie quivering in glee; 
While waves have caught from clouds the rosy hue, 
Which spreads, and dimples, over all the sea, 
In beauty sweet and true. 



74 . POEMS. 

I would not leave tliee now ! The morn will come, 
The calm November morn, wrapped in its shroud 

Of mist, from which the sun will flash. As some 
Bright sword from out its sheath, so from the cloud 
The flashing sun will come. 

And day will shine again, as days have shone 

Before : — those summer ones, now past and gone. 
Earth's faded flowers, and withered leaves, alone 
Must speak the change. Sweet day, haste to thy 
dawn 

And shine as thou hast shone. 



WE TWO. 



We stood upon the mountain height, 

And gazed far down the glen; 
The sky spread o'er us fair and bright, 

And we were happy then! 
Dost thou remember, dear beloved, 

How clear that river shone, 
When hand in hand its banks we roved, 

And neither felt alone? 

We trod so lightly o'er the earth, 

Our hearts so light within; 
And sang aloud in pleasant mirth 

Each other's smile to win. 



FALTER NOT. 75 

Dost thou remember, dear beloved, 

The sadness of that horn'. 
When song was hushed, as on we roved. 

And clouds began to lower? 

The storm has come, and dark our way! 

But night will soon be past: 
And thinking of those hours I say 

They were too sweet to last. 
Wilt thou remember, dear beloved. 

When I have passed away, 
How oft beside those banks we roved, 

In love's first happy day? 



FALTER NOT. 



Oh ! falter not in bearing the rude cross ! 

Though sore the weight, and deep the wound it 
probes; 
The way-worn spirit, freed from earthly dross. 

Shall soon stand crowned, and drest in perfect 
robes. 

Oh ! do not falter now ; the way, though rough, 
Shows many a sunny spot where thou mayest rest; 

And heaven's glad sunlight here were sweet enough, 
Though thou of all things else wert dispossessed. 



76 POEMS. 

When gloom and mist are past for evermore, 
How sweet will be the dawning of that day — 

Slow breaking, fair and cloudless, on the shore 
Where every bitter tear is wiped away ! 

How passing sweet and clear, will chime the sound 
Of angel voices, waked to welcome thee ! 

How earthly thoughts will fade with their low bound, 
When soul and sight are in eternity I 

Then falter not below ! but fix thine eye 

With faith's keen vision on a world to come ; 

Whose mansions are prepared beyond the sky. 

Whose " Light thereof" calls every wanderer home. 



A PICTURE. 



Let me paint her as I see her, 
Standing at the window there. 

With the autumn wind about her, 
And the sunlight in her hair. 

Ten times have the apple-blossoms 
Dropt their perfume o'er her head, 

Ten times have the wooded alleys 
Rustled 'neath her airy tread. 



A PICTURE. 71 

Rosy lips, and parted slightly, 

Teeth of pearly white within. 
Almond eyes, bright blue, and sprightly, 

Curved and dimpled little chin. 

Saintly forehead, pure and milky, 

Over which the golden hair 
Drops in ringlets, close and silky, 

Holding all the sunbeams there. 

She is looking at the chestnut 
Dropping half its fruited store, — 

Claps her hands, and smiles, while waiting " 
Till the wind shall loosen more. 

Oh! the slender little fingers, 

Tapered to the rosy tips, 
Oh! the hap23y smile which lingers. 

Round the small curve of her lips! 

Just a few more years may sadden 
The sweet light within her eyes; 

Or may serve her heart to gladden, 
With love's innocent surprise. 

Yet, I think her far more lovely. 

With her heart of childhood free. 
Happier with her ten years' knowledge, 
Than in future she can be. 
7« 



78 POEMS. 



BESIDE THE LAKE. 

A DREAMY lake serene, upon whose breast 
No ripple trespassed! Ah! I see it now 
As in the days gone by, — its margin curved 
So faultlessly, o'erhung with grasses soft 
And green. Athwart its bosom, all day )ong, 
The sleepy summer sunbeams shone; and there 
The wild bird came to rest its weary wing. 
Sweet solitude was there, and to the south 
A slight acclivity, o'ertopped with trees 
Of giant growth, beneath whose shade I sat 
And dreamed the . dreams of early life. I wove 
Bright visions in those silent hours. At times 
I fancied a strong arm was stretched to cull 
The lilies at the water's hem: I saw 
Them gathered in a manly hand, and offered 
With a royal grace which did me homage. 
Sometimes a face would seem to rise, all in 
The noon-tide stillness, and eyes, such eyes as 
Spirits only have, looked love upon me. 
Oft when the golden cloud-gates opened were 
In the west, I seemed to see heaven's glory 
Keflected on the surface of that lake, 
As in a dream. Then, when the sun's last kiss 
Flushed the far cloudlets with a rosy tinge. 
Which soon departed, I have softly wept 



BESIDE THE LAKE. 79 

To see the day die sweetly from tlie earth. 
Many the wild flowers there which blossomed, 
Mingling their perfume with the sunlit air. 
Many the wild songs sweetly warbled there, 
By bright-hued songsters in the leafy trees. 
The soft and dreamy atmosphere of those 
Bright sunny days, gave to my tranquil youth 
A tinge of romance, which my heart approved, 
And no eye witnessed. There alone I roved 
At morning, noon, and eve, whene'er I found 
My presence was not needed at my home. 
Sweet days of childhood by the dreamy lake. 
Where I reflected saw a happier face 
Than that which now I wear, when will return 
Your beauty and your peace? 

Ah, never more beside the lake. 

The sunny lake I roam; 
And gather lilies for her sake 

Who waited me at home; 
My mother dear, no more I hear 

Her tender voice at morn — 
" Arise my Birdie, Birdie dear, 

It is the hunter's horn." 

Beside the lake — the lonely lake, 
The hunter's horn is still. 



80 POEMS. 

The flowers unplucked are blooming there, 
The mournful whip-poor-will 

Moans his soft, plaintive melody, 
Above a lonely grave! 
♦ My mother dear! ah, woe is me! 
I could not heal or save. 

Beside the lake, beside the lake. 

No more the homestead stands; 
Its walls are crumbled to the earth, 

Another owns the lai>ds. 
Beside the lake, the dreamy lake, 

I come alone to mourn, 
Where once I roamed so gay, and free, 

And heard the hunter's horn. 

Ah! never more beside the lake 

A happy child I roam, 
And gather lilies for her sake 

Who waited me at home. 
My mother dear! no more I hear 

Thy tender voice at morn — 
" Awake, my Birdie, Birdie dear. 

It is the hunter's horn." 



THE QUESTION. 81 

THE QUESTION. 

She heard \t; yet she half forgot. 

Her thoughts were far away, 
And if she loved, or loved him not, 

Her lips refused to say: 
For deeply in her spirit dwelt 

The spell of other years. 
And eyes looked backward through the mist 

Of slowly gathering tears. 

She heard it! and another voice 

Came echoing from the past, 
Which thrilled her with such sudden pang 

Her tears fell thick and fast. 
Strange answer this to Lover's quest! 

Those dark eyes streaming so, 
And lips convulsed with secret pain, 

That smiled an hour ago. 

She heard it once again, and calmed 

Her very soul to hear: — 
"Now do you love me as I hope? • 

Say, Amy! — Amy dear!" 
Enough! no echo in her heart 

Responded to that tone; 
The chords were voiceless save when thrilled 

By memory alone. 



82 POEMS. 



AT NIGHTFALL. 

As one wlio liatli erred and strayed, 
Come I, oil Father, to thy sacred shrine; 

Contrite, and unafraid, 
Assured thou wilt forgive, and make me thine I 

We wander through the dark — 
No light save thine to guide the narrow way; 

Oft we forget our mark. 
Amid the cares and sorrows of the day; 

But night brings holy calm: 
The stars with their mute eyes look softly down, 

Seeming to shed a balm 
Of peaceful dew upon our sorrow's crown ; 

And we remember Thee! 
Thou infinite, eternal, in the skies; 

Oh ! deign to visit me, 
Who am the least of all in thy pure eyes. 

For I have erred and strayed; 
Yet come I, Father, to thy sacred shrine; 

Contrite, and unafraid. 
Assured thou wilt forgive, and make me thine I 



HE DID HIS DUTY. 83^ 

HE DID HIS DUTY. 

Come, bear liim to his resting-place 

With still and solemn tread. 
No crown of laurel shall be placed 

Above his youthful head, 
No words of praise upon his tomb 

To speak of how he fell — 
Only the honest epitaph, 
"He did his duty well." 

Come near and gaze upon the dead 

Ere laid beneath the dust; 
Gaze on the calm and settled face 

With still and solemn trust. 
Look on him ! let your grief be still. 

And do not mourn as they 
Who mourn a youthful spirit lost, 

Or birthright cast away. 

How might a mother's heart rejoice, 

To know amid the brave 
Her son, the brightest and the best, 

Had found his early grave; 
Amid the foremost ranks had fought. 

With bold and fearless eye. 
And felt within his noble heart 

'Twas honor thus to die. 



84 POEMS. 

Then bear him to his resting-place 
With still and solemn tread. 

No crown of laurel shall be placed 
Upon his youthful head, 

No words of praise upon his tomb 
To speak of how he fell — 

Only the honest epitaph, 

"jSe did Ms duty loell" 



CLOUDS. 



While the last dim light is waning, 
Tune the voice of thy complaining, 

Soul, oh bitter soul ! 
Lift thine eyes where float the yellow 
Grolden clouds, with tints so mellow 

In one gorgeous scroll. 

Far away they kiss the river, 
Gleaming like a bar of silver 

Through the dusky wold. 
See! its waves have caught the splendor, 
Deeper light, more sweet, more tender. 

Waves of liquid gold! 



A VISION. 85 

Pass! within my breast ye waken 
Sunshine, that was once o'ertaken 

By the lightning stroke. 
Clouds which followed, rained their tear-drops 
Only o'er the blighted heart crops, 

When my soul awoke. 

Pass ! and leave the chill dark shadow. 
Creeping over hill and meadow. 

Creeping, creeping on. 
Night with cold and dusky fingers. 
Soon will shroud the light which lingers, 

When your hues have gone. 



A VISION. 



I HAD a vision that was not a dream. 
Life, Death, and Immortality, did seem 
To stand beside me in that silent hour. 
Each seemed to woo me with a subtle power 
Unto herself Life, rosy as the dawn 
Of summer mornings, and with laughing eye, 
Called to me with a voice of minstrelsy 
Like that of gurgling waters; saying "come! 
All nature calls thee, earth shall be thy home 
8 



Jb POEMS. 

For many years. Enjoy each lovely scene ! 
The verdant hills, and streams that roll between, 
The glowing meadows, and the arching skies. 
The bloom of flowers where cool fountains rise; 
All these are thine to share." " Sweet Life" I said, 
■' I will embrace thee :" but a shadow spread 
Like autumn mist at twilight round my bed ; 
So quickly ! and a voice more sweet and calm 
Than any I e'er heard, fell like a balm 
Ul3on my weary heart. An outstretched hand 
Hung lightly o'er me, as in morning land 
A cloudlet hangs above the mountain's brow; 
And the white silence seemed to whisper, " now, 
Now will I claim mine own." I hieio that voice, 
For oft in starry watches of my choice 
At midnight hour, my soul had dreamed of such. 
And I, (although I feared not the soft clutch 
Of those white arms,) half shuddered with a thrill 
Of mortal pain; — Death looked so cold and still. 
Yet looming from its shroud methought there rose 
A perfect creature, with divine repose 
Upon her features bright. Her eyes like stars 
Grieamed heavenward; and a glittering crown 
Adorned her forehead. From her fair head down, 
A veil of majesty was hung. Her lips 
Moved not in utterance : yet their meaning broke 
So deeply through my vision, that I woke. 



FROZEN TO DEATH. 87 

" This last, was Immortality " said I : 
" She dwells not ou the earth, but in the sky : 
And though she speaks not with a mortal voice. 
Her more than uttered promise be my choice." 



FROZEN TO DEATH. 

"On the morning of the 5th inst., a young girl (apparently 
not more than seventeen years of age,) was found frozen to 

death upon the first floor of a tenement house, in B 

Street." 

Cold, bitter cold ! no sunlight and no food. 
My very heart seems frozen ! One little log of wood 
Lies mouldering on the stones. I ask if wrong it be, 
To wish the solemn funeral bell, were tolling now 
for me. 

I hear the cartmen swearing, as through the crowd 

they pass, 
I cannot see them, for my breath is frozen on the 

glass. 
Even the rats and mice have fled. More happy they 

than I, 
Whose only hope on earth is this — in quietness to 

die. 



88 POEMS. 

The bell strikes five. How many hours I've watched 
and sufifered here ! 

But he whose promise strengthened me, has never 
once come near. 

He will not come ! I care not now how cold the night- 
winds blow; 

No outward things could warm my heart-^-'twas 
broken long ago. 



I know this night the cold will freeze the life-blood 

in my veins; 
What there is left, like yonder flame, now flushes, 

and now wanes. 
The night creeps on more bitter cold. Oh ! welcome 

sleep of death. 
More sweet to me forsaken here, than summer's 

warmest breath. 



Farewell, false world ! I have not sought your gilded, 

heartless touch; 
To ask the hand of sympathy, were asking fiir too 

much — 
So I have proved! my years are few; but very far 

the sound 
Of gentle words, since one dear form was laid beneath 

the ground. 



FROZEN TO DEATH. 89 

Farewell ! alone in all the world, unsought, unloved, 
by all. 

The watchmen here will find me dead to-morrow 
when they call; 

The last tears frozen on my cheek, the last dry mor- 
sel gone; 

They'll point in wonder to my corpse — all meagre 
and forlorn : 

Perchance will pity my hard fate. Ah ! watchmen, 
spare your tears; 

I know an angel watcher, who has watched her child 
for years; 

Beyond this cold, cold stream of death, I see her out- 
stretched hand. 

And hear the heavenly music of that bright and 
happy band. 

Next morn, the watchman on his round, beheld the 
snow-piled door; 

And entering, found a girlish form hard frozen on 
the floor. 

He did not know that wretched room had held a 
heavenly guest; 

He only saw the truth (cold world !) We have sur- 
mised the rest. 



d2 



90 POEMS. 



LOOK ON HER TENDERLY. 

Look on her tenderly, 

Slied not a tear, 
Life's chain but slenderly 

Wound the links here. 

Cross the small drooping hands 

Over her breast: 
Think where her spirit stands 

Joined with the blest. 

Stain not the winding sheet! 

Marks of thy grief, 
Dropt o'er her shrouded feet, 

Bring no relief. 

Come press the parting kiss 

On her pale brow. 
May be she seeth this 

In glory now. 

Press the kiss tenderly! 

Shed not a tear! 
Earth's chain but slenderly 

Bound her soul here. 



LINES. 91 

Still, tlirougli all grief and pain, 

Where eyes grew dim, 
Shone there a stronger chain, 

Binding to Him. 



LINES. 

The night was one of wind and rain; 
Before the dawning of the day 
The lasif red leaves had whirled away, 

And left the old trees bare again. 

The autumn woods survive their loss. 
They drop their bright leaves, one by one. 
And stand up in the morning sun, 

Like sternest truths bereft of gloss. 

And now, reflected on the stream 

Where late their cooling shadows fell, 
The naked branches sadly tell. 

That earthly pomp is but a dream. 

A dream that soon must fade away. 
Ah! well for those, when winds are mild. 
Who keep their heart-life undefiled. 

In fitness for a darkening day. 



92 POEMS. 

The joyous spring again will come, 
To clotlie tlie brandies fresh and fair; 
So may a spring-time blossom there 

Around the heart, in heaven's great home. 

The dead leaves rustle merrily! 
I love to trample them below. 
Because I feel decay my foe, 

And know that death must conquer me. 

But shall it conquer? 'tis a thought 
I cannot fully comprehend — 
That I must cease, and have an end, 

Fade as the leaf, and come to naught. 

"Dust unto dust," was Heaven's decree. 
Thus all have died, and so must I; 
Nor need I stop to question u'%; 
What comes to all, must come to me. 

Oh! sad indeed were life below. 
This consummation still in view, 
Did not the go&pel light shine through, 

And gild the death to which we go. 

It fills the troubled soul with peace, 
And whispers sweetly — "here is rest: 
Come, lay thy head on Jesus' breast, 

Then fall asleep, and find release/' 



FORGET. 93 



FORGET. 



It is easy to say " forget," and to let the heart grow 

cold, 
To find another face as fair, to change for a new the 

old. 
To look as long into other eyes, with as fond, and 

earnest gaze, 
To steel the soul against the thought of better and 

happier days. 

It is easy to say "forget," the world has others as 

fair, 
There are others with eyes that shine as bright, and 

just as beautiful hair, 
If one won't listen, another will, and we need not 

pine for love. 
If one star disappears from the sky, there are many 

left above. 

.It is easy to say "forget" — to join in life's gay 
dance, 

To clasp the hand of every one, and look with a ten- 
der glance. 

Or laugh in a cold, and careless tone, schooled in 
lessons of art. 

And never to let the worldling's eye see that you 
have a heart. 



94 POEMS. 

It is easy to say " forget/' but ah ! if ever you knew 

The love which sprang from a gentle heart, that was 
good, and pure, and true, 

That taught you to look to better things, and a world 
of higher bliss, 

You could never change your holy faith, for a doc- 
trine false as this. 

Ah! no, you can never forget; it will come when 

least you think. 
The thought will check your wandering step upon 

destruction's brink, 
Her eyes will beam on you then, lier voice will fall 

on your ear, 
And like a guilty thing you will start, and think to 

find her near. 

Yes ! the echo of that love, like the restless moan of 

the sea. 
Will follow you through the future years, wherever 

you chance to be. 
You will find the gay and fickle world, will \)Q fahe 

to you at the last, 
And turn with an aching heart, too late, to that 

beautiful dream of the past. 



THE GOLDEN CROWN. 95 

LOVE OXCE. 

Love once! love well! Life knowetli not 
A more ennobling power tlian this, 
When all that seems, and all that is, 

Are mingled ne'er to be forgot. 

Love once! love well! Yet never deem 
Thy life may know no sorrow here, 
Love's surest token is a tear, 

And happiness is but a dream. 

Love once ! love well ! Through bliss or woe 
Prove Faith, and Constancy, sublime. 
There lies beyond a happier clime, 

Love ceaseth not with life below! 

On earth begun, and sorrow tried. 
Found true and noble at the last, 
In heaven, when pain and death are past, 

Twin-spirits mingle, glorified. 



THE GOLDEN CROWN. 



How beautiful upon the mountain's brow 
Shine the last glances of the setting sun;- 
A crown of glory, to encircle now 
Its lofty forehead till the day is done. 



96 POEMS. 

Below tlie shadows rest. The river glides 
Unseen through mist. But there God's smile 

doth lie. 
Oh golden summit where the splendor hides, 
How beautiful art thou to mortal eye! 

How strangely the autumnal leaves contrast 
With the blue sky above, serenely clear, 
Like tongues of flame, confessing at the last 
To some pure soul, because their end is near 

Oh ! distant light, unearthly, yet how fair, 
Crowning the mountain summit with delight, 
Would that your beams might rest forever there, 
Nor melt away, in cold, and cheerless night. 

I in the shadows walk; and looking up, 
View the angelic vision fade away. 
A dream of childhood to my heart comes back, 
And is embodied in that sunset ray. 

Oh ! dream too bright to last where life is loss ! 
Oh, light too far to warm this mist of tears ! 
Within the valley if we bear our cross, 
God's smile may light the summit of our years. 



AUTUMN DAYS. 97 



AUTUMN DAYS. 



The sun each day sets golden in the west, 

The leaves fall golden from each woodland tree, 
And happy are the long, long autumn days, 
I spend, dear love, with thee. 

The fruit hangs golden o'er the orchard wall. 

The river glanceth in the noon-day sun; 
And bright within the span of each brief hour, 
The golden sand-grains run. 

I hear the murmur of thy gentle voice 

Which floateth bird-like o'er the rushing tide, 
And read the . language of thine eye's clear glance, 
Thou triest in vain to hide. 

For thou art happy in these golden days; 

And love more true than thine were sought in vain ; 
Yet this lies hidden in thy earnest gaze, — 
"Can earthly bliss remain?" 

Ah ! sunny days, ye cause the heart to ache 

E'en when the cup we quaff brims o'er with love. 
For soon the golden bowl though bright must break. 
The soul seek rest above. 



POEMS. 



AT THE HOSPITAL. 

^TwAS the still sweet hour of twilight, 

In the west the clouds were red; 
Death was dimming many an eyesight, 

Hovering darkly o'er each bed 
Where the wounded men lay dying. 

Thirsting for the breath of life, 
Without murmur, groan, or sighing, 

Silent victims of the strife. 

Open were the broad low windows; 

All the outer world was still. 
And the pure fresh breath of heaven 

Seemed the whole long room to fill. 
Now and then a word was spoken — 

Some last message left behind. 
(Such men need nor word nor token 

To recall them to our mind!) 

One I marked with eyes uplifted 

Gazing on the western sky: 
Well I knew his mind was gifted. 

By the calm depth of the eye! 
Silently I watched the expression 

Change to one of troubled pain. 
Ah ! I thought, with strange depression. 

He can never walk again. 



AT THE HOSPITAL. 99 

Botli limbs gone! so young, so noble; 

Suffering without word or groan. 
Can the glorious boon of freedom 

For these brave lost sons atone? 
I had dared to ask the question 

Grazing on his troubled face, 
Till the eyelids closed, and trembled, 

Then I went and took my place. 



I had watched for many a twilight 

O'er that couch in days before, 
When his pale young lips were speechless. 

And his body torn and sore. 
Lately he had seemed to rally, 

Waking as it were from sleep. 
Stepping forth from that dark valley 

Where the slumber mists are deep. 

He had questioned me on waking: 

''Where am I?" "Maud is it you?" 
Ah, 'tis hard ! this undertaking 

To remind them luhat is true. 
It was on an evening clearer 

Than the one of which I write, 
And his look as I drew nearer 

Was indeed a painful sight. 



100 POEMS 

"'Tis not Maud, but look around you. 

You are here among the slain. 
These are strips with which I've bound you, 

You will never walk again. 
That brave man is dead off yonder; 

This one dying at your side." 
As I spoke he turned in wonder, 

And his eyes were opened wide. 

Startled was their first expression, 

After which they vacant grew, 
Losing all the love that lit them 

When he asked — "Maud is it you?" 
Not a tear rose up to lighten 

All the misery at his heart. 
Sorrow's grip but seemed to tighten 

As I tried to soothe the smart. 

But there came at last a calmness 

Which I could not all divine; 
Deeper calmness than has ever 

Come to spirit such as mine. 
And I thought of it that twilight 

As I watched his bed beside, 
Little thinking that ere midnight. 

The poor sufferer would have died. 



WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY. 101 

Sweetly as in youth's briglit morning 

Drops a little . cliild to rest, 
So his head in death's calm slumber 

Gently drooped upon his breast. 
Brave young heart! I wept his sorrow; 

Truly suffering is sublime — 
Borne in meekness, till some morrow, 

Wakes us in a happier clime. 



WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY? 

Oh! pity those whose lifeless hearts 
Have never known a patriot's thrill j 
Who, though they have a mind and will. 

Lack courage now to act their parts. 

Yes, pity them ! for where the power 
To rouse those feelings that remain, 
If Liberty has called in vain 

In this their country's needful hour? 

They cannot feel (who stand aloof) 
That glow of noble, inborn pride, 
For which men barter all beside, 

And give the world their loyal proof 



102 POEMS. 

Yes, pity them! the thronged Broadway, 
Where selfishness and fashion meet, — 
The very stones beneath their feet 

Might boast of hearts as well as they. 



AMERICA. 



My country! beautiful and free, 
My heart still yearns, still mourns for thee, 
America ! 

And is there left one traitor's arm, 
That would not strike to save thee harm, 
America ? 

Thy guiding star, — where is it found? 
Thy brother's blood calls from the ground, 
America ! 

Thy flower of youth ! — where has it fled ? 
Go thou and ask the silent dead. 
America ! 

Rise from the dead! Hope shall not die! 
Let every loyal heart still cry 
America ! 



LINES. 103 

LINES. 
WRITTEN AT A GRAVE. 

Tread lightly o'er the turf which hides her form, 
Speak gently as the whispering angels talk; 

Above her grave, through sunshine, and through 
storm, 
Let lilies bloom upon their slender stalk. 

Let the wild ivy cling, a symbol clear 

That memory is green through all the years; 

And the lone weeping willow bending near. 
At eve and morn shed its unconscious tears. 

Here let the robin, in the leafy spring 

Build her small nest, or sing the hours away; 

And the last sunbeam slanting from the west, 
Linger as fondly at each closing day. 

Here let the winter, with her snowy wing 
Shrouding all nature in a garment white, 

O'er the dead lilies her soft plumage fling, 
Hiding their withered beauty from the sight. 

Then, as the spring reneweth leaf and flower, 

Bursting to beauty in a warmer sun; 
So may she, in the resurrection hour. 

Bloom once again in youth, when time is done. 



104 POEMS. 



A CHILD'S WISH. 

Mother, I long to be away. 

The city's noise and strife 
Seem pressing harder, day by day, 

To crush away my life. 

I long for the green hills once more; 

The river, pure and free, 
That rolled on calmly by our door. 

And brought such joy to me. 

I long to taste the bubbling fount 

Of water, cold and clear, 
And watch the wild bird proudly mount 

Through the blue atmosphere. 

Oh ! when shall I return once more 
To that dear mountain glen. 

And breathe its freedom as of yore. 
Sweet mother, tell me when ! 

Some hearts there are by nature nursed, 
Who love her language more 

Than aught beside the world can teach, 
Of glory, art, or lore; 



THE FIRST FOND DREAM OF LOVE. 105 

And the dull city's dust and din 

Were never meant for me. 
I bear an aching heart within, 

Sweet mother, make me free! 



THE FIRST FOND DREAM OF LOVE. 

Sweet as the bloom of Spring, to one who feels 
His life no more may know a spring-time here; 
Pure as the snow on highest mountain peak, 
That glistens mildly 'neath the morning star; 
So sweet, and pure! the first fond dream of love. 

\Yild as an untamed bird, that haunts the shade 

Of some far island in the southern sea; 

Deep as the soundless depth o'er which it soars. 

To sun its plumage in the light of day; 

So wild! so deep! the first fond dream of love! 

Confiding as a child that rests its head 
Upon a father's breast, secure from ill; 
Immortal as the fount from which alone 
All love in life — all perfect love — is drawn; 
Oh life of life I the first fond dream of love ! 



106 POEMS. 



ECHOINGS. 



I WOULD this weak and trembling hand 

Might strike a noble chord, 
And sound abroad through all the land, 

The praises of my Lord! 

I would these feet might tread the way 

My blessed Saviour trod; 
Nor deviate, from day to day. 

Until they reach my God ! 

I would these eyes less oft might weep 

O'er trials by the way; 
And on tliy cross their dim sight keep, 

Thou glorious Star of Day! 

I would this heart might early turn 

From all, to worship Thee; 
Bow at thy feet, of thee to learn. 

Through all eternity. 



SOME TIME, BUT WHEN? 107 



SOME TIME, BUT WHEN? 



Some time, I know, but when ? Oh when shall I be 

free 
From sorrow and from pain, which now encompass 

me ? — 
Far in the distance dim, I see the beaten shore, 
Of that dark stream, beyond whose waves. 
The weary weep no more. 

Some time, but when, oh when ? The world is with 

me now; 
Its thorns have formed a crown, to pierce my aching 

brow. 
My bleeding feet are sore ; and round my throbbing 
heart 
A chain of earthly love is bound. 
Too firm and strong to part. 

Some time, but when — oh when? Night creepeth 

after night, 
And day succeedeth day, each with a faded light. 
Love's anchor sinks so deep, the chain still weighs* 
me down; n 

And bitter, blinding, are the drops 
That fall from sorrow's crown. 



108 POEMS. 

Some time, but when — oh when ? I gasp for purer 

air; 
The clouds shut out the stars, which used to beam so 

fair. 
These words wear through the dark — "Alas ! it might 
have been." 
Some time, I know, it shall be so — • 
But when ? Oh ! tell me when. 

When shall my soul be free from this its constant 

smart ? 
Oh that I were with thee, and happy where thou 

art — 
I dreamed of thy sweet face; it looked most radiant 
then, 
I woke in agony, and cried, 

" Oh darling, tell me when !" 

When shall the conflict cease — the spirit be at rest; 
The weary head repose upon our Saviour's breast ? 
Oh, shall it not be soon ? I languish for thy home, 
Where grief is o'er for evermore — 
Death, tarry not! but come. 



PROSPECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 109 



PROSPECTIVE AND EETROSPBCTIVE. 

Yes tliey have gone! Those morning hours 
That shed their glory round my heart, 

Have past away like April showers, 
Whose rainbow tints new life impart. 

It cannot be this life may know 

Such long continued hours of peace, 

For soon, ah ! soon, the seeds of woe 
Take root, and scatter, and increase. 

Ere childhood dawns in conscious youth, 

Uj)on the lip, and in the eye, 
The tear succeeds the smile of truth, 

And mirth is followed by a sigh. 

And far away the waters seem 

That lit the dream-land of our hopes; 

And coldly doth the one star gleam, 
Where yonder heaven gently slopes. 

Yet while I watch its flickering light, 

I think of one hope passing far 

Above all earthly things in height, 

As o'er the world, that silent star. 
10 



110 POEMS. 

One franquil hope, that cheers my life 
Above the dark horizon's rira, 

And whispers sweetly through the strife, 
Of rest at last, in heaven, with Him. 



YOUTH'S DREAM. 

Oh ! bid him reverence in his manhood's prime 
His youth's bright, morning dream. 

Don Carlos. 

Forget not the dream of thy youthful heart 

In the years of long ago, 
Ere time had sullied life's holy chart 

With furrows of care or woe; 
Revere it as something that once was thine, 

And hung like the morning dew, 
On the flower — thine heart — in its vernal time, 

Reflecting heaven's own hue. 

Revere it as something that passed away 

Like a spirit from the earth. 
Yet left thy soul on its parting way 

A sense of its heavenly birth. 
Revere it as something more bright in truth 

Than the stars of midnight be : 
Oh! was it a dream that upheld thy youth. 

Or thy soul's first purity? 



THEN, AND NOW. Ill 

If thy feelings more true in their earlier years 

Appear but as dreams of a day, 
Was it earth with her cares, or her sorrowing tears, 

That washed the bright vision away? 
Will the tears never dry, nor the cares ever cease, 

That the soul may stand upright and free ? 
Oh! pray that the thoughts of thy youth may 
return. 

In their freshness and beauty to thee. 

Revere them ! they met thee at threshold of life. 

With blessings and joys in their wake; 
Sweet voices spake kindly apart from the strife, 

In which, nobler thoughts men forsake. 
Oh ! pray that the dream of thy youth may return, 

In its beauty, its freshness, and truth; 
Fra.ught deeply with faith, and with trust in the 
true. 

Oh revere the bright dream of thy youth ! 



THEN, AND NOW. 



I KNOW not if the days gone by 
Have been more purely spent, 

Yet this I know, they seemed more bright, 
More pleasant as they went; 



112 POEMS. 

And hope was tinged with such fair hue. 
That future hours seemed fraught 

With beauty, and with happiness, 
These hours have never brought. 

I know not if the smiling skies 

Were then more dear to me, 
And yet they do not seem so fair 

As once they seemed to be. 
The sunlight sparkles on the stream 

As when I was a child, 
Yet cannot now beguile my thoughts 

As they were then beguiled. 

How fir it seemed — that narrow bound 

Where earth and heaven meet! 
Ah ! childhood's fancies are too fair 

For anything so fleet. 
And thoughts crowd up, as years come on, 

And earth seems all too cold 
For those warm yearnings that arise 

Within the feeling soul. 

The skies seem bending all around 

To close our sorrows in: 
The eye of faith can hardly pierce 

Above the world's rude din : 



DREAMS. 113 



And silent moments that recall 
The thoughts of earlier days, 

Are green oases 'mid the waste 
Of all our worldly ways. 



DREAMS. 



Apparel'd in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 

Wordsworth. 

Beneath the quiet of the sky — 

The twilight of the early day, 

Upon my wakeful couch I lay 
With thoughtful mood, and dreamy eye; 

And thus unto myself I said; 
"What matters it? 'twas but a dream; 

And things which are, and things which seem 
Most beautiful, are soonest fled." 

The hush of morning passed HYiaj, 
And with it all celestial beams, 
That held the net-work of my dreams 

Within their soft illusive sway. 
10 * E 2 



114 POEMS. 

Yet here, afar from love's retreat, 
Whose golden flowrets spangle o'er 
That fairy land I tread no more. 

With joyous heart, and willing feet; 

I sit within the sunset gleam, 
Where a calm river rolls away: 
And whispering to my heart I say, 
"What matters it, ^twas but a dream!" 

A dream that lit youth's transient day, 
Yet haunts the soul though youth be past: 
A gleam too bright and sweet to last, 

Where storm and darkness check the way. 



A THOUGHT OF DEATH. 

The thought of death falls still and voiceless 
On the heart, as some seared autumn leaf; 
Which, dropt from parent tree, is emblem 
Of our fate. Leaves open in strange beauty, 
And their vernal hours are sweet: but when 
Life's joys look brightest on the golden 
Side, full soon our fall time comes. 
One common orrave there is for all 



SONG OF THE VIOLET. 115 

Beneath the clods of earth! One common 
Grave for all, though scattered far and wide; 
E'en as the autumn leaves which grow o'er 
Mount and stream, are sifted to the winds. 
Some drift adown a glittering stream, and 
Perish 'neath its waves. How eloquently clear 
Are nature's teachings oft! She wreathes her 
Laurels fair to crown the heart of youth, 
Then bids the garland drop, to mind us 
We must die. 



SONG OF THE VIOLET. 

"A violet by a mossy stone 
Half-hidden from the eye ! 
Fair as a star, when only one 
Is shining in the sky." 

WORPSWORTH. 



I LOVE in truth a simple flower, 

A very little thing. 
It cannot clamber wall or tower. 
Nor rose-like shade a rustic bower, 

This violet of Spring. 



11(3 POEMS. 

It blooms more sweetly for the eye, 

111 quietness alone; 
Where some clear streamlet wanders by, 
Or drinks its life-light from the sky 

Beside a mossy stone. 

Most modestly it nestles there 
And hangs its pretty head. 

As it would say wdth simple air, 

" I am not proud though I am fair 

Within my little bed." 

' "I love to dwell within the sound 

Of this pure valley stream; 
The tree's broad shadow o'er the ground 
Half cover the fresh grassy mound. 
On which I lie and dream. 

"At eve beneath the stars I lie 
And drink the falling dew, 
With blue eye lifted to the sky, 
I sip the crystal draught and sigh 
For nothing else to do. 

"I envy not in my low place 
The rose's richer boon, 
Nor the tall lily's stately grace, 
So clearly seen in her white face — 
Pale daughter of the Uioon ! 



REVERIE. 117 

Though often passed unheeded by, 

I never shall repine; 
For one will love me where I lie, 
If I but catch her deep blue eye 

Bent musingly on mine/' 



REVERIE. 



To die on such a night, — oh! blissful dream! 
The clear still depths of that transparent stream 
Spoke strangely to my heart. The very stars 
Reflected on its trembling bosom, bore 
A fearful longing to my soul 
It never knew before. 

A glance was raised to mine. A low voice spoke, 
And as the whisper died, my own sad heart awoke 
To memories of the past : — that treasured word ! 
Had I been dreaming while the moonbeams played 
Around that down-bent head? 
I almost felt afraid ! 

Still drifting down the stream! One moment more 
All memory of the past, all sorrow might be o'er. 
The wave rolls dark and deep! — an idle hand 



118 POEMS. 

Sought mine, unconscious of the pain 
Those careless words revived, 
In this sad heart again. 

Still drifting down the stream! Oh! never more 
Should I have wished to reach that lonely shore. 
Death's cold embrace spoke peace. The whispering 

winds 
Sighed mournfully; and all my trembling frame 

Still thrilled beneath the sound 
Of that familiar name. 

That dear familiar name ! The laurel branches wave 
Upon the river's brink, above one lonely grave. 
Where lie two buried hearts. The weary hours 

roll on. 
Ah well ! some perish in the strife, 

While I keep drifting down 
The stream of life. 

Still drifting down ! When will the current cease ? 
When will the chain be loosed — the spirit find 

release ? 
Ah! tell me when. Around my lonely path 
N"o hope-light beams! My heart beats slow! 

And almost sinks beneath 
Its weight of woe. 



COME TUNE THY THOUGHTS. 119 

Is there no place of rest? I mark one star 
Just setting, and its radiant beams afor 
Shine o'er the wave. Oh! for a spirit's power 
To reach that star! — beyond all grief or pain, 
My life should set with it, 
Nor rise on earth asrain. 



COME TUNE THY THOUGHTS. 

Come tune thy thoughts to quietness, 

The wild wild thoughts that roam. 
And bid them seek for happiness 

In no ideal home. 
Though sweet the hues which fancy throws 

O'er time's fast crumbling ^vall. 
The light which in the S2nrit glows. 

Is sweeter far than all. 

Come gather round thee all thy foes — 

Pale grief, regret, and care; 
Then look them boldly in the face 

And ask them whence they are. 
Ask lioio they came, and icliy they came, 

Then answer, "'Twas His will," 
And faith will speak the sweetest name 

To triumph o'er them still. 



120 POEMS. 

Then tune thy thoughts to quietness, 

Bid them no longer roam, 
And teach them how to greet the foes 

That meet them in their home. 
Though dark the woes which sorrow sows 

This side of time's great wall. 
The faith that in the spirit glows 

Can triumph o'er them all. 



LEONIE, 



Leonie bright, Leonie fair. 
With eyes of light, and golden hair. 
Where art thou gone? the voice is still 
Which laughed more sweet than mountain rill, 

Leonie ! 

As sunset's glory disappears 
Thy beauty fled, and bitter tears 
Blend with the brooklet's minstrelsy! 
Ah! bonnie Bird, come back to me, 

Leonie ! 

The leaves are wooed by summer's breath, 
All nature seems to smile at death, — 
Save one lone tree, which drooping weeps, 
Above the grave, where coldly sleeps 

Leonie ! 



ABSENCE. 121 



ABSENCE. 



Just five short years ago, mother, 

You pressed me to your heart, 
And wept warm tears upon my head 

The day we were to part; 
But now I tread a foreign shore, 

And think of that same day, 
And wonder — will we meet no more 

In life's tempestuous way? 

Just five short years ago, mother! 

So full of hope and youth, 
I left your side a willing bride 

To prove another's truth. 
But ah! the world is rough, mother; 

No other love like thine, 
Can weave a glory round the heart. 

Half earthly, half divine. 

Just five short years ago, mother! 

You've traveled farther on; 
The golden gate is almost reached, 

The crown is almost won : 
And I have followed in your wake 

The steep and narrow road, 
And murmured not for your dear sake. 

But meekly borne my load, 
n F 



122 POEMS. 

We'll meet no more on ecn-fh, mother; 

The waves have dashed so wild, 
And grief has gnawed my heart so deep, 

You would not know your child. 
But upward now, and on, mother, 

My watch-word is, and prayer, 
And though your years outnumber mine, 

I may be soonest there. 

Then upward now, and on, mother, 

Though seas between us roll. 
No heights, nor depths, can sever those 

United soul to soul. 
And when we meet at last, mother, 

(The pain all gone, you know,) 
You'll weep far sweeter tears than those 

Wept five short years ago. 



SPRING DATS. 



Now sunlight, and now shade! 
Oh ! lovely, changing days. 
My heart her tribute pays, 

Ere yet the sunbeams fiide. 



SPRING DAYS. 123 

Sweet cliildhood of the year! 
Whose tear-drops lightly fall, 
Whose clear smiles brighten all, 

And failing youth endear. 

Like winter-brooding cares, 

The clouds pass, one by one, 

Beneath the cheerful sun. 
Or float away in pairs. 

Forth from my darkened home 

I seek the fresh green fields; 

And all my sorrow yields 
To gladness while I roam. 

New life, these fresh winds bring. 
That wave the cool, young grass, 
And as I onward pass, 

I hear the sweet birds sing. 

The tender flowers peep forth: — 

The silken fields are rife, 

With beauty, light, and life. 
And the freedom of the North. 



124 POEMS. 



LINES. 



There was one, who for long years was dearer 
To my heart than Ufe : — one whose very air, 
As he past by along the crowded mart, 
Told that a nobler than the herd was there. 
For in his firm, free step, and restless eye, 
There dwelt a power, howe'er subdued, and chained. 
To conquer in the right, or else to die. 
And never had that wayward heart been tamed. 
Though fate had done her worst, and some had even 
blamed. 

His voice was as the music of the spheres 
To me, when it would utter my own name ! 
And often in my eyes the feeling tears. 
According to his discourse, went and came. 
Oh ! those were golden days, for it was then 
Soul answered unto soul, and I was loved 
By him, the noblest, brightest, best of men ; 
(For so his image in my fancy moved,) 
And well had time, and grief, our sacred passion 
proved. 

First love is beautiful ! Clear as the sun. 
The glad, bright morning sun, which drives all mist 
Away; trustful as childhood just begun, 
Hopeful as youth, and strong, few can resist 



THE DAYS or YORE. 125 

Its sway. 'Tis deep and solemn as the night 
Upon wild ocean's shore, that echoes back 
The lonely night bird's wail, until all sight, 
And sound grows painful; and the pale stars lack 
Their wonted lustre, to throw brightness o'er our 
track. 



THE DAYS OF YOKE. 

x\h1 could the hours we all have known, 

Return to cheer us still, 
When life was sweeter than the tone 

Of some low mountain rill; 
When pure and calm the months went on, 

While peace slept at our door. 
And fair and sweet were those calm days, 

The golden days of yore. 

Ah! could the hands we once have clasped 

And felt their pressure grow 
Around the heart, as it were grasped. 

Because we loved them so. 
Return to take our hand again, 

While wintry winds are rough. 
Perhaps 'twould smother half the pain, 

And that were sweet enough! 
11* 



126 POEMS. , 

Or could the eyes we used to read, 

Returning glance for glance, 
But drop a tear for our sore need. 

To comfort life's advance : 
Or could the lips we oft have kissed, 

While conning love's sweet lore, 
Come back to ask if we have missed 

Those golden days of yore ! 

But hands are still, and dumbly crost. 

And cold beneath the sod; 
And hearts to us for ever lost. 

Are happy with their God. 
And eyes that shed their starry light, 

Are closed for evermore; 
And lips have uttered their last prayer, 

Since those sweet days of yore ! 



WHAT THEN? 



After a promise given 

In friendship's sacred name, 

With eyes as true as heaven. 
Flashing their liquid flame. 

What then? 



WHAT THEN? 127 

Only a broken vow, — 

A cold indifferent eye 
Only a tearful look 

Asking the reason why. 

After a sentence kind 

When no one else is near, 
After a '-never mind" 

Soft whispered in the ear, 

What then? 

Only a scornful lip, — 

An artful, meaning, smile 
Only a painful grip 

Around one's heart the while. 

After the faded mask 

Has fallen quite aw^ay; 
After the night's dark fiice 

Has brightened into day, 

What then? 

Only a clearer view 

Of things that should not be; 
Only a just reward. 

In Gods eternity. 



128 POEMS. 



QUESTIONmaS. 



What is it that you bring, oh ! lovely Spring, 

With your sweet-scented breath, 
And gentle winds that o'er the meadows sing, 

As though there were no death. 

Nor grief in all the land ? 



What is it that you bring? A thousand things 

That speak of summer hours. 
While from the earth the modest violet springs, 

Bright leaves twine round the bowers 

Where roses soon will cling. 

But what is it you bring ? A roseate glow 

Still crowns each parting day, 
And sunset's splendor o'er the heart can throw 

A mild, enchanting ray. 

Half soothing in its power. 

What is it that you bring beside yon sky 

Arrayed in cheerful blue, 
And tiny flowers, and brooks that rattle by, 

And leaves of sweetest hue, 

And rainbow-tinted showers? 



DEATH S DRAFT. 



129 



Oh ! gentle Spring, what bring' st thou to the heart 

'Mid all these fairest scenes ? 
Why is it that the hidden tears will start 

And fill the eye, as dreams 

Come breathing of the past ? 

Canst thou restore our dead? — they coldly lie 

Deep down beneath the sod. 
Brave souls were they, and did not fear to die, 

Who now are with their God, 

Where endless spring-time reigns. 



DEATH'S DRAFT. 



A GRIM and ghostly shadow stalks 

Across the moonlit plain, 
And when the morn begins to dawn, 

I see him there again. 
He laughs aloud, and claps his hands. 
His voice is that of Death; 
The very air 
Seems everywhere 
Polluted by his breath. 

He sings a song — the words are these : 
"Bury their bones in peace; 



130 POEMS. 

Though thousands fall, mine are they all, 

My draft shall never cease. 
I make my call, and millions come, 
(Though naught have I to tempt,) 
And though they plead 
Their strongest need, 
Not one shall be exempt." 

And o'er the happiest homes of earth 

This shadow ever lowers, 
It haunts the depths of every heart, 

E'en in its merriest hours. 
Too oft forgotten by the crowd 

Whose souls have fondly dreamt — 
" Though death is near. 

We need not fear, 
For we shall be exempt." 

Yes, Death is making his fearful draft 

Among the ranks of men; 
How old they are, how young they are, 

It matters little then. 
For all are there, the strong, the weak, 
The man with hoary head, 
The maiden fair, 
All, all, are there — 
In the army of the dead. 



A VISION. 131 



A VISION. 



I SAW tlie broad ocean, all calm, and at rest; 

No wind waked its silent repose, 
The tide clambered np on the earth's sunny breast, 

As a child for a kiss ere it goes. 
The whole sea was shining like one precious gem, 

In the beams of a fresh morning sun. 
And ships stood like statues, or ghosts, in the light, 

With white robes all loosely undone. 

And one of them slowly assumed the fair form 

Of my lost one far down in her grave, 
As calmly it stood pointing up to the sky 

Above her wan form 'neath the wave. 
And still the strange silence oppressed me like pain ; 

When suddenly, sweet, and most clear, 
I heard her calm voice in my ear once again, — 

That voice I remember so dear. 

" Weep not," the voice said, " for the night will soon 
pass. 

And joy will return with the morn." 
I awoke with that sound in my desolate room, 

And a joy in my heart had been born. 



132 POEMS. 

When I looked on the ocean, so tranquil it seemed, 

So peaceful and sweet in the light, 
That it seemed like the picture of what I had dreamed, 

In the darkness and storm of the night. 

And thus it is now, when with sorrow and pain 

The suffering spirit is torn, 
I thinb of the joy when this brief life is o'er, 

That will surely return with the morn : 
And as I look outward across the dim sea 

To mark the white sails going on, 
A low, tender voice, still seems calling to me, 

And still I go journeying on. 



"WHEN SHALL I THINK OF THEE?" 

When shall I think of Thee? 

On the still bed of death? 

With my last failing breath — 
Say, " Lord, remember me ?" 

Oh! I would love thee noiv : 

Ere death's dark hours draw on. 
Now at the day's sweet dawn, 

Accept my early vow. 



THY VOICE. 133 

When shall I think of Thee? 

At the still eventide! 

When nature far and wide 
Speaks of her God to me. 

And in the silent night 

When I awake from dreams: 
When life more solemn seems, 

And wrong, more clear from right. 

When shall I think of Thee? 

Each hour of every day! 

While this faint heart would pray, 
Dear Lord, remember me." 

Happy to trust thee still! 

Hoping each day may see 

Some trial borne for thee, 
If it should bo thy will. 



THY VOICE. 



The first time that I heard thy voice 
Was all unknown to thee; 

The glory of the summer stars 
Shone soft and tremblingly, 

12 



134 POEMS. 

And niglit was calm, without a tone 

To break its deep repose, 
Save that of thy sweet voice alone, 

Which through the stillness rose. 

I, leaning from a easement' near, 

Caught up the flowing strain; 
And thinking of my boyhood years 

I lived them o'er again. 
I saw the homestead by the stream. 

My sisters hand in hand, 
And once again within my dream 

I joined that household band. 

The murmur of the rushing tide 

Kan sweetly through my brain, 
A thousand happy thoughts were stirred 

By thy soul-thrilling strain. 
It rose so clear, so free, and fine; 

A wild bird on the wing 
Might envy that sweet voice of thine, 

And droop to hear thee sing. 

Thy song had ceased ere I arose 

To leave the outer night; 
But when my eyelids sought repose 

Thy presence filled my sight. 



THE beggar's death. 135 

Our souls had mingled in one dream 

Of youth, and joy gone by, 
And my lone heart seemed drawn to thine 

By some etherial tie. 

Ah, well I the years have flown since then. 

We both are older grown. 
Yet still I love to sit and hear 



tone 



Thy low and thrilling 
No longer new, yet far more sweet 

For all it speaks to me. 
Of constant love, which yet may live 

Through Heaven's eternity. 



THE BEGGAR'S DEATH. 

He died in bitter want and cold, 
On whom earth's scorn was hurled, 

A creature very weak and old. 
Forsaken by the world. 

His forehead wears a starry crown, 
For Christ has dried each tear. 

And angel eyes are looking down 
On this vile body here! 



136 POEMS. 

Then lift him gently from his bed, 

On whom earth's scorn was hurled, 
His "title clear'' in Heaven is read, 
"Forsaken by the world." 



''THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM." 

Ah! there was one o'er whose pale brow 

No laurel ever twined, 
And yet whose spirit soared above 

The herd of mortal kind. 
Divine he stood, with light like that 

Which early day adorns, 
E'en while his head was bowed beneath 

The cruel crown of thorns. 

A glorious star announced his birth — 

Moved slowly o'er the sky: 
Perchance its strange, lone course was marked 

By many a gazer's eye. 
Sweet star of hope! o'er all the world 

New risen to proclaim. 
The advent of a nobler one. 

Than earth could ever name. 



LITTLE EFFIE. 137 



The "Star of Bethlehem" was then 

The finger-mark of God, 
To cheer his weary pilgrims on, 

And guide them in the road. 
Methinks that as it wandered by, 

An awe crept o'er the heart, 
Of each, who in their after years 

Enacted his sad part! 

And as its beauty shone at last 

Above the humble place. 
Where Jesus, (man of sorrows here) 

Began his mortal race; 
So now He shines above the stars, 

And points each wanderer home, 
To meet him in his glory crowned 

'Neath heaven's paternal dome. 



LITTLE EFFIE. 

Blue eyes beaming bright and fearless 
Like the clear autumnal sky, 

Silken lashes, brown, and tearless, 
Lips unburdened with a sigh. 

12 '- F 2 



138 POEMS. 

Flowing liair which gleameth golden 
In the mild November sun, 

Waving darkly o'er her forehead 
When the long bright day is done. 

Grentle voice, like water leaping 
From its fountain, pure, and free; 

Happy heart, within whose keeping 
Rests the peace of infancy. 

There she kneels beneath the starlight 
Lisping forth her evening prayer. 

May the holy angels ever 

Keep her in their guardian care! 



A MOTHER'S FAEBWELL TO HER CHILD. 

GtOOD-night! fair child, I go 
Whither thou could'st not know 

Were I to tell. 
Death is unknown to thee, 
Life still a mystery, 

And it is well! 



A mother's farewell to her child. 139 

Oh! could'st thou only know 
Life's deeper joy or woe, 

Thou would'st be sad; 
Nor lift those starry eyes, 
In sudden, mute surprise, 

To see me glad. 

« 

For I a7n glad! I go 
Whither nor blight, nor woe, 

May reach me more. 
Nor echoing voice shall call, 
Nor weary tear-drops fall, 

On that blest shore. 

Oh! never ask in vain 
'•Will mother come again?" 

For we shall meet, 
When earth is past for thee. 
In heaven's eternity, 

At Jesus' feet. 

Good-night! dear one, till then. 
Come press these lips again, 

And sink to rest. 
Calm be thy slumber mild! 
Fain would I bear my child 

To Jesus' breast. 



140 POEMS. 

If ever life should be 
A painful dream to thee, 

And sunshine dim; 
Oh! lift thine eyes above: 
God, is a God of love, 

Trust all to Him. 

Now close those wistful eyes, 
Or my sad tears will rise 

When leaving thee. 
Goodnight! a long good-night! 
Ere dawn of morning light 

I shall be free. 

Free from this painful life, 
Free from the weary strife 

Which troubleth me. 
Jesus, to thee I come. 
Oh! take the wanderer home, 

Take me to thee. 

Hush! she is sleeping now. 
One kiss upon that brow 

So mild, and fair. 
God keep her for his own! 
In this wide world alone. 

She needs His care. 



LINES TO MY BIRD. 141 



LINES TO MY BIRD. 



Gro! I release thee, little bird, 

A captive now no more, 
Yet sometimes come with thy sweet voice, 

And sing about my door. 

Flit lightly now from bough to bough, 
Where lurk the shadows green, 

A singing sunbeam that thou art! 
And happy too, I ween. 

Sing on! sweet bird of sunny climes, 

Enjoy the fleeting hours. 
No Queen is happier on her throne, 

Than thou among the flowers. 

How oft I've wished that I like thee 

Could lightly fly away, 
Could ever free and happy be, 

The whole long summer's day. 



And when the sunbeams grew more dim 

Far in the glowing West, 
Beside some fountain's glittering spray 

Could lay me down to rest: 



142 POEMS. 

With one sweet star above my head, 
The evening star of Love; 

Keflected in the wave below, 
Clear as it shone above. 

The pupil hright in heaven^ s blue eye 

Keflected in my own; 
Till twilight deepened into night. 

And that sweet star had gone. 

But ah! such joy is not for me, 
Sweet warbler of an hour! 

My life is like the troubled sea; 
And thine is like the flower, 

Which feeds on sunshine, and the dew, 

And passes in a day. 
So thou, at Winter's faintest breath 

Will quickly flee away. 



THOUGHTS. 



If one were weeping here, 
And I should (oh! so gently) lay 

Her head upon my breast, 

And wipe away each tear; 
If all were vain that I could say 

To soothe her heart's unrest: 



LINES. 143 

If I sliould speak of hope, 
A.nd see the weary eyehds eiose 

Without one upward ghmce; 

Then watch them slowly ope 
While I recalled my own past woes, 

As one in sorrow's trance: 

If I should say — "Dear one! 
The spring-time of your earthly years. 

Though fraught with grief, and care, 

And shrouded from the sun. 
Will brighten yet; come! dry these tears, 

Let not your heart despair:" 

If all were said in vain, 
And I beheld no courage there. 

Dear Saviour! but for thee 

To mitigate the pain, 
And pluck the arrow from despair, 

That one were like- to me. 



LINES. 



Say, what is man? his words so great, 

His acts at times so small; 
His thoughts still bounded by the curse 

Of his primeval fall. 



144 POEMS. 

One moment mounting to the stars, 

Beholdmg Heaven's glory; 
Then clinging to the dust, as though 

Faith were an idle story. 

A worm of dust! A fallen star! 

Keflecting still a splendor 
Which emanates from God's high throne, 

Pure, spirit-like, and tender. 

How often does the inner truth 

Find outer contradiction! 
The doubting spirit fail to win 

Heaven's peaceful benediction. 

Yet never doubt that Grod is Grod, 
And truth is truth immortal; — 

The only light on earth to guide 
The soul to Heaven's portal. 



REFUGE. 



Learn to "walk with still footsteps, and with hum- 
ble eyes;" 
And as the startled fawn unto its covert hies 
When threatenino; foes are near, 



THE iDLK WORD. 145 

So thy God on high, who can from ills defend, 
Betake thy troubled soul, and on his grace depend. 
Secure from every fear. 

Then o'er thy path below a radiance will be thrown, 
(If perfect trust is thine,) such as thou hast not 
known 
In all thy days before. 
Earth's burden will seem light, with Heaven for thy 

goal, • 
And one long hymn of praise, within thy tranquil 
soul 
Shall dwell for evermore. 



THE IDLE WORD. 



I KNEW a fountain, deep and clear. 
That calmly smiled the hours away. 

Reflecting all things bending near. 
In heaven's glad sunlight day by day ; 



And so, because its rest was fkir. 
And sweet its peaceful under-tone. 

A wanton idler loitered there. 

And in that fountain cast a stone. 

13 r. 



14G POEMS. 

Ah, broken rest! — ah, troubled heart! 

Where mournfully the ripples break. 
Ah, idle icord! though small thou art, 

Still canst thou cause the heart to ache. 

Rest, troubled one ! when pain is past. 
Again reflect a cloudless sun. 
•'For every idle word, at last, 

3Ien shall be judged." Rest troubled one! 



THE END. 



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